


Welcome to Bar Eden

by adriatic



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Character Study, Conversations, Crack Treated Seriously, Dialogue Heavy, Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, Fluff, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Historical Inaccuracy, Humor, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, M/M, Not Beta Read, Reader-Insert, Slice of Life, Yakuza, bartender!reader, breaking the fourth wall here and there, episodic, everything happens in a bar, rarepairs, thats it thats the story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 50,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25170796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adriatic/pseuds/adriatic
Summary: If you walk down the alleyway with a green brick house at the entrance on the right, make a left at the second intersection, and go straight forward until you see the building with a black door and a wooden plaque hanging from a rusted iron bar, you’ll be at Bar Eden…A cozy place, where anybody, from presidents to rank-and-file hitmen are accepted and welcomed to rest, as long as they follow these rules:1. Don’t incite violence, else the bar cat gets fussy.2. Talk about anything and everything you want.3. Names are to be kept a secret.4. Forget every word spoken in the bar once you leave.You’re the lone bartender here, and have already grown a following of loyal patrons, ranging from greenhorns to veterans from all over. Perhaps it was your radiant appearance that drew people in, or it was your ever-charming personality, or maybe you just were really, really good at mixing drinks.Either way, one thing is for sure - everybody who meets you is bound to share a story, infused by spirits.What will be their stories tonight?(note: relationship tags with reader are for the purely platonic one-on-one stories for later. manga spoilers for some professions!)
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Reader, Ennoshita Chikara/Reader, Haikyuu!! Ensemble/Reader, Iwaizumi Hajime/Reader, Kita Shinsuke/Reader, Kyoutani Kentarou/Reader, Miya Osamu/Reader, Oikawa Tooru/Reader, Shimizu Kiyoko/Reader, Tendou Satori/Reader, Ushijima Wakatoshi/Reader
Comments: 106
Kudos: 303





	1. newcomers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His presence is like the sun. Not in the way it warms up the chilliest of hearts, but in the way it’s a giant ball of flaming gas, ready to burn everything in its path. 
> 
> His sun is still small, but it has unlimited potential to grow, and one day explode into a brilliant display of colors.
> 
> \--
> 
> He sits atop a bloodstained throne. A young king in the making, already a master of cruelty in words. He demands perfection daily, from himself, from everybody else. Because he only uses perfect pawns.
> 
> He can’t win with anything less, and the back he’s chasing wouldn’t want anything less.

Bar Eden. Tucked away in a small corner of Edo, as the name implies, a tiny bit of paradise in this world of deceit and murder, of sin and greed.

The owner of Bar Eden opened up the place to give everybody of all backgrounds and identities, no matter how small or significant they are, a place to rest. However, he had insisted to keep the number of customers small to create that feeling of comfort, so the people that frequented are given directions by another person - only those acquainted with the owner had knowledge of the location firsthand, and these were usually the top-of-the-top bosses.

Because of the small size, the number of staff hired was also miniscule. You were lucky enough to know the owner, and he had offered you a position as a full-time bartender. Pretty soon, you settled into a comfortable routine and dedicated yourself to the art of bartending, and later hired a barback. You, the barback, and the owner occupied the three staff positions.

Monday shifts you arrive at exactly 6 PM to get set up and make last-minute preparations before opening. You don your standard black-and-white attire, tie your dark necktie in the backroom and head to your place behind the counter. The barback, a young girl with big, fluffy brown ponytails you affectionately dubbed "Pony-chan", Akane Yamamoto, had already diligently restocked and cleaned up the bar, and is currently wiping the tables. She gives you a quick bow when she sees you.

"Good evening, Bartender-san! I hope today we have good business as always!"

Bar Eden's owner was quite particular about the rules only during open hours, but Akane liked calling you Bartender-san anyways.

"'Good work as always, Akane-chan. You've been doing quite well in your duties lately, perhaps I'll give you a lesson in mixing someday soon."

"I'd very much appreciate that, Bartender-san! I'll be looking forward to it!" She does a mock salute, which you chuckle at, and returns to wiping the tables.

You’ve just finished doing a final wipe-down of the bar top when you hear the wooden door creak, signifying their opening.

“Wow, this place really does exist!”

“Of course it does, you idiot! Our kyodai gave us the directions to this place, why wouldn’t it exist? Who do you think they are?”

“They could’ve just been pulling a prank on us though…”

You turn your attention to the rowdy duo that just barged in, a short man with the brightest orange hair you’ve seen and a tall one with a head of raven hair. Both of them have scratches and cuts on their faces, and their clothing are in a somewhat haphazard state.

They also don’t look of age, but that you brush aside.

As long as they had money, you’re allowed to bend some laws.

“Welcome to Bar Eden boys, what can I getcha tonight?” You put on your best welcoming smile, gesturing to the bar.

The one with orange hair stares widely at his surroundings, clearly out of place.

“Er… is there a menu here or something?”

“You idiot, bars don’t have menus!”

“Eh? Really? How does anybody know what they want then?”

“They know drinks beforehand, dumbass!”

This goes on for a bit as you smile patiently at the two while wiping some glasses.

“Then, do you know what Dai-”

A hand flies over the short one’s mouth at sonic speed.

“You're really stupid, aren't you? It says no names are allowed on the sign!”

“Mmph- Hey! Get your hand off me!” He struggles a bit, eventually pushing the taller one off. “That was rude! Was it really necessary?”

“Both of you, I ask that you calm down. In case you’ve also forgotten, no violence is allowed in here.” You point at the rule on the sign behind you. “But yes, you can’t speak names in here either.”

“Why is that?”

“You really are an idiot, huh? What if a rival overheard us here? We’d be dead meat the next day!”

“That is true, but Bar Eden is first and foremost, a place to relax in anonymity. As a haven for the tired, we offer everybody a chance to rest, away from the troubles and weariness of the outside world. Speaking of which, why don’t the two of you take a seat?” You interject, gesturing to the stools.

The two sit at the bar stools, leaving one seat apart between them.

“Ah… that makes sense! D- er, our kyodai really know their places!”

“We do have quite the number of regulars. Now, I’ll start off Orangey here with an orange creamsicle and V-bang with a daiquiri. Your first drinks here are on the house. And to answer why we don't have menus, even if newcomers got a menu, they still wouldn't be able to know what drinks to order."

“That makes sense! Even if we did get menus, drinks have really weird names, don't they? And uh, are those really the nicknames you’ll be giving us?”

“I am open to any suggestions you may have, if you have any.”

“...’spose not.”

You get out the ingredients and start to work, first on the creamsicle.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what should we call you?” V-bang asks.

“Bartender-san works just fine.”

“Then Bartender-san, how did you know we were new here?” Orangey pipes up, looking intently at the orange soda you’re pouring.

“I remember all of my patrons that pass by. And with how the two of you act, plus with your appearances, it is quite clear your experiences haven't been that much. In both this world and the other,” you quickly wink as you slide the creamsicle and start the daiquiri.

“You noticed that too?”

“Of course. Like I said, Bar Eden is a place for everybody, and your type swings by often.” You start shaking the mixture of light rum, lime juice, and sugar syrup in a shaker.

“You must really know how to read people to notice us in almost a second. That's so cool!”

“It’s all part of the trade." You add a lime garnish to the cocktail glass and slide it to the dark-haired boy.

“Say, would you have any advice for people starting out?”

“Hmm. How about not dying?”

“That's it?”

“Your lives are important to your team, so being reckless and forfeiting them in dangerous situations would cause great trouble to everybody that depends on you."

"Wow... that sounded so cool! Who are you really?" His eyes sparkle at you.

"Just your regular bartender, nothing more, nothing less."

_...is what you say to everybody, at least._

"Then Bartender-san, do you know if a lot of people... pass away?"

“Don’t worry about people dying if you can’t even do your job right, dumbass," the black-haired one interjects.

“Hey! Not my fault I wasn’t raised in a bigshot family!” Orange-haired immediately turns towards V-bang with an angry look on his face.

“My upbringing has nothing to do with this. Why’d you join if you can’t even hold your weapon properly?” He retorts.

“I’m still learning! I’ll get used to it in no time, just you wait! I’m gonna be the best there ever is!”

Oh, youth.

Though, it only lasts for a brief second, but those orange eyes aren’t filled with the naïvety of most newcomers - rather, it’s an intense, hungry gaze you often noticed in the especially dedicated ones.

_Seems an interesting bunch has made the scene._

“What are you even talking about? You mixed up the big boss and the senior advisor, and the fact that they laughed it off you should be eternally grateful for. If I was them, I might’ve kicked you out already. Besides, the title of the best is clearly going to me.” He downs the rest of his daiquiri. “You’re still on your drink?”

“Shut up, I’m savoring the taste! I don’t know what’s put in here, but it tastes pretty good!”

“That would be vanilla vodka, orange soda, and a good heaping of whipped cream on top,” you explain. “V-bang, want anything else?”

“Can I have an Old-Fashioned?”

“What kind of drink name is that?"

"A one for a good one, unlike your 50% sugar."

"Hey, this drink is still good! If you think yours is better, I'll get one too! Bartender-san!" He turns back to you. "Can I get a Wold-Fashioned too?"

"It's Old-Fashioned! Old, not Wold! Besides, what the heck is Wold anyways?"

"Just shut up already, V-bang!"

You smile at them in response. “That is no problem. Sure you two can handle it?”

“Of course! I’m a heavyweight! Meanwhile, Ka- oops, I mean V-bang can’t even hold one drink!”

“What didya say, idiot Orangey? I’ll have you know I can hold mine pretty well! If it’s a competition you want, you got one!”

“You’re on!”

“If you two want to do a competition, then it’s better to use these instead,” you interrupt, pulling out the shot glasses.

“Eh? Why is that?” They say in unison.

“Depending on how you two do, it’ll be a bit of a hassle for me to continuously pour out drinks, you know. That, and I don’t want the two of you to be breaking empty your first day at a bar.”

(You say that, but you still pull out the Yamazaki whiskey bottle on the table. Not the top-shelf version, but still quality enough to put a reasonably-sized dent in someone's wallet. You reasoned they probably wouldn’t last long, anyways).

“Knock yourselves out.”

“Then… let’s pour out 5 shots, and let Bartender-san do it in case you do less in yours, and we’ll see who can drink it all the quickest!”

“You’re on! And why are you accusing me of cheating? You’d clearly cheat by intentionally passing it off as an accident, idiot!

“What are you talking about? I’d never! That’s why I asked Bartender-san to pour them out, anyways!”

“Fine, fine, whatever. Bartender-san, if you would pour out the drinks!”

These two are lucky there’s nobody else here right now. You probably wouldn’t have put up with their antics if it was a full house, but they’re the first ones here tonight.

_Plus, they’re kind of fun to observe._

“You’re on it.” You carefully pour out 10 shots of whiskey. “How about doing this on my countdown then?” You suggest.

“Sure thing!” Orangey says, beaming widely. “Stupid V-bang, are you ready?”

“You’re on, Idiot Orangey!” His face breaks out into an evil grin.

“Alright, on your marks… get set… go!” You slam your fist on the bartop, and the two start chugging away.

* * *

“Have a good night!” You cheerfully wave at the duo as they stagger out of the bar, the two supporting each other up (and no doubt muttering obscenities).

They ended up finishing all shots at the same time, which you were pleasantly surprised at, but then started going a bit too wild, which you weren’t surprised at. You ended up calling a taxi for the two of them before they could inflict any permanent damage.

You'd also hate to see them banned so early.

"What a crazy bunch they are," Akane remarks, wiping sweat from her forehead. "Bartender-san, I just finished cleaning the kitchen area!"

"Thank you, Akane. And they certainly take the cake for being over-the-top on their first night. I'm already pretty exhausted dealing with them," you chuckle. While mostly in jest, you're already feeling your energy sapped away.

"I wonder what organization they're from..."

"Oh, did the owner not inform you? They're the new guys from Karasuno."

"Eh? That run-down one? I'm surprised they're still getting recruits." Her eyes widen in surprise. 

"Well, they're not entirely out of yet. Heard their big guy's back in town, and he's a direct descendant of their former one. Anyways, enough chitchat - I want you behind the bar mostly for tonight instead of the register. Probably won't be too busy of a night."

"I'm on it, Bartender-san!"

The dark wooden door swings open again.

“Welcome to Bar Eden! What can I getcha tonight?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everybody! I have extremely little prior knowledge on how bartending/mafia/yakuza/the whole biz works, so apologizing for any errors beforehand. feel free to let me know if there's anything glaringly wrong! this will definitely be a more lighthearted/character-focused and less action-heavy take on the whole underworld. you can skip around to chapters if you don't like them, as there's not really much of a plot connecting these.
> 
> concerning time-period: this is right after the opening of the country to foreigners, though it is still extremely historically inaccurate so do not expect this to be an accurate representation of the edo/meiji era transition. note that i will be referring to tokyo as edo as this'll be somewhat important for later.
> 
> stay safe and healthy out there! hope you enjoyed <3


	2. old-timers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody really notices him. But without him, the whole organization would topple. His style of fighting’s never flashy, but if anybody unprepared goes against him, they’d always lose. 
> 
> After all, he’s the one that leads the charge in bringing down the gods. 
> 
> \--
> 
> Nobody really knows why he joined. He embodies the very essence of a light summer, and most people saw the strawberry ice cream side of him - gentle, refreshing, welcoming.
> 
> Only do his enemies see the torrential rain, the booms of thunder, the strikes of lightning that come with the season.

Being a bartender isn’t just about mixing drinks according to a recipe; the name, “bartender”, implies “tending to a bar”, and in extension, the people at the bar. 

Therefore, a good personality is also important to bartending. At least it was to the owner as he wanted to focus on the personal connection side of the bartending world. He believed you were more than capable of handling all sorts of scenarios and people. 

(And you are, because you’re you.)

Some people become loose screws with the thanks of a couple of drinks, so it was important to make sure they don’t go too off the rails. Such a pair entered Bar Eden on Tuesdays if it wasn’t raining around 7:30 PM.

Well, it’s more like one person who is barely reined in by their partner.

“I’m telling ya Bartender-san, these newcomers are one heeeeell of a pain to deal with! I almost had a heart attack when the one called our boss the advisor! Mr. Crew Cut over here was already angry enough when they refused to work together! I was too, I don’t give a damn about your personal feuds, you’re all in one family now!”

“But Mr. Gray, didn’t you have some rough experiences when you joined?”

“That was that, this is this! I was nowhere near as bad as these flubbers! Lord knows how much I have left in me to deal with ‘em. Other ones aren’t half bad, though one of them always talks like he’s got a stick up his ass.”

“Your first bar experience was pretty bad though,” a deep voice interjects. He sips on his rum and Coke, the first of the night compared to his partner’s 3rd dry martini.

“Ah? Whuzzat? Don’t know what you’re talking about at all! Was and still am a real charmer!”

The grey-haired man’s first appearance at Bar Eden with his partner was quite normal: He was pretty friendly, despite all nervousness and stammering.

Then he ordered a martini, dry.

And another.

And another.

His initial timid appearance completely washed away; he turned into a rambling drunkard, surprisingly coherent at that. Venting was usually not for the bar, but the owner had allowed for any and all forms of conversation, so there were quite a few patrons that came in and let off some steam.

“Both you and Mr. Crew Cut didn’t even know how to order. Does it run in the family or something? Two of your kids _may_ have met their fair share of struggles the other day.”

(With emphasis on the word may - it naturally applied that you couldn’t share the stories of other people that frequented the bar, but sometimes you made tiny exceptions.)

“Oh, so you’ve already met them? I gave them instructions to this place that day, didn’t think they’d make their appearance so early.”

“Ay Bartender-san! Don’t call them our kids yet! Mr. Crew Cut was about to kick them out after how spectacularly they failed! Ah, it’s so hard building up a family… back in the good ole’ days, we probably wouldn’t even be havin’ this problem…” He slumps on the counter, swirling his martini lazily. 

“With the way you’ve been going on about them, you’re already fitting into the motherly role quite well though. Mr. Crew Cut would make a great father too.”

“Bartender-san, please-”

“Don’t call us parents! In th’ first place, Mr. Crew Cut over here’s too damn scary with how he acts sometimes…”

“Mr. Grey, I think the same could be said to you,” you smile politely. 

“Scary? Me? No way… well, anyways! Something ‘bout them… Not sure if they’re what the family needs, but they’ve got guts, I’ll say.”

“Really now? How long has it been since they’ve joined?”

“Let’s see… some days ago? Oi Mr. Crew Cut, d’you remember?”

“Beats me. They’ve been putting in quite the work at practice though. Pretty sure they’re starting their tattoos soon too, the lot of them.” 

“You did say there were 4, right? Have you given the other two the directions here?”

“Of course, Bartender-san! Told all of them to pay their respects to the best in the country.” Mr. Crew Cut toasts to you and finishes his drink. “Though, they did complain that they didn’t realize how much money it was… exactly what did you do to them?”

“That’s a secret, Mr. Crew Cut. I’ve already told you a bit too much tonight. But I do thank you for the recommendation. Anyways, would you like that filled up?” You nod at the chiseled man’s emptied glass, who gratefully holds it out.

“Youngins these days drink ‘emselves silly, eh? Can’t control their urges, then boom, all that hard earned coin's just gone.” The grey-haired sighs, slumping his head on the countertop.

You add a bit of ice into the highball glass, pour out some Bacardi and top it off with cola and a lime wedge. He gives his word of thanks to you and sips it. 

“Mr. Grey, aren’t you doing the same right now? Look at yourself before you talk to others. Mind you, tomorrow’s a pretty important day too. I hope you aren’t going too wild.” While Mr. Crew Cut's words may have been gentle, his tightly-lipped smile said otherwise. 

Though if his partner noticed, he showed no sign. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry! Got tomorrow in a bag!”

“Oh? What’s on the plate for tomorrow?” You query.

“We’re testing out the skill of the newcomers in a small skirmish. One of our rivals has been encroaching on our territory recently. Their boss is a pretty shady one, keeping up a charade of being a nice and kind boss in public. Rumors have been floating around that he’s been out of commission for a while, though.”

You had a feeling that you knew who this was, but you keep it to yourself. “Well, good luck then. Don’t go too crazy.”

“I don’ understand what people see in that guy,” Mr. Grey slurs. “Meanwhile, we’re seen as the big, scary guys. Exactly where are we scary? I get our tailor might not look too friendly, but he’s not even the wors’ of the bunch! Once ya get to know him, he’s th’ biggest softie outta all us here!” 

Said tailor is a patron of Bar Eden too, and indeed to many he looked quite intimidating, ordering a classic Cutty and water. 

Then he immediately blanched at the taste. 

“Your group is quite involved in the local business side of things, isn’t it?” 

“Pretty much everybody in our area has been a part of the group, or closely connected to someone inside. We’ve got a grocery market, an electronics store, and a convenience store, though that one’s run by the boss. It’s a good deal - they get safety, we get a bit of coin to line our pockets.”

The owner had been a bit nerved by the mascot of the grocery market, a smiling pig that’s cut up. 

You then reminded him he’s done the same before. 

_“Still, it’s supposed to be a cute mascot. Not something out of a horror movie.”_

“An’ nobody’s complainin’ either. Boss’ pretty lax on the whole taxes, since nobody comes to our side of town much, anyways. By the way, what’s this place under? With how many regulars that come here, I’m sure it makes some good money!”

“Bar Eden is under the jurisdiction of nobody. We run as independent, and it would most likely cause quite the stir if an organization tried to take over.”

He was right - there had been many, many organizations in the past that had tried to stake their claim on Bar Eden, no doubt entranced by the paradise of wealth, but they had all failed miserably. 

“Oh right, I remember hearing our boss talking about how you guys are technically off-limits to everyone. Rest assured, we’ll definitely help protect you guys if it comes down to it!” He gives you a big thumbs up. “Just what exactly did you guys do to achieve that status?” Mr. Crew Cut ponders out loud. 

“Insider secrets,” you wink, putting an end to that topic. “Anyways, I’m about to call the last call, so you two should head on back soon. Especially since him over there-” you nod to the inebriated gray-haired man “-might get a bit out of hand.”

“Bartender-san, I’m not tha’ outta it yet!” He whines. 

“No, you definitely are. Let’s get going now.” He counts a couple bills from his wallet and puts it on the counter. “Thank you, Bartender-san. I’ll see you around then.”

You take the bills and wave goodbye to the duo. “Have a nice night!”

* * *

“Bartender-chan, here are the files on the four new ones that joined Karasuno the other day. Make sure to pass it to dear Akane-chan as well.”

“Oh, thanks. Let’s see here… wow, Kageyama Tobio looks impressive,” you whistle, flipping through the stack of papers. "He's the same vein as that shitty president, huh?"

The man sitting in front of you adjusts his maroon scarf. “He would’ve gone over to Aoba had it not been for Ukai’s return. Must’ve been a pretty big shock when he realized that man wasn’t there, but it seems like he’s doing quite well right now."

“That geezer Ukai really is somebody else. I wonder if his grandson lives up to the name? Must be pretty big shoes to fill.”

“All in due time, dear. Anyways, good work today. You even managed to get Daichi a second drink.”

“What can I say, I’m a genius.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more backstory being revealed... slowly... what does it mean? anyways, love how I released this fic right after it was announced final chapter of the manga's released... ooh boy. hopefully some of y'all are still gonna read this. comments and kudos feed my soul, leave them if you liked this!


	3. to the edges of the universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Great King treated everything like a game. He could move everybody to whatever position he wanted to, from his company to women. Pieces flowed, money moved, lips crashed, all for him. He sips on his Dom Perignon like water, his people his pawns.
> 
> He never liked the underground for its constant secrecy, so he erupted into the surface, his presence unavoidable, his chains spreading far out.
> 
> \--
> 
> He could never wash off the coppery stench from his hands. No matter how much lavender-scented soap he used, he always trusted the fragile side up boxes to his partner. He doesn’t dare pet the chinchilla, either. Each night he traces a new constellation on his arms that formed on the surface of his skin.
> 
> He prays, but there’s never an answer. His hands are built to grab a pistol rather than be clasped towards the sky, anyways.

_Bang bang bang._

The empty magazine is quickly refilled with bullets. 

“You gotta go now. We can’t hold on much longer here.”

The brown-haired man grimaces. “But we’re so _close_ -”

“And I’m not risking our head dying just because we’re fucking close, Shittykawa. For fuck’s sake, you turn off your brain at the worst times.”

“Fine then, I’ll call the retreat. Those stupid eagles, I’ll get them back.”

“Good. Now get your ass up and go.”

He stands up, patting his suit. “Before I do that, just one more thing.”

“What is- _what the fuck are you doing, Oikawa_?”

* * *

While most of the nicknames you gave to your patrons were simple and often based on their appearances, there were a select couple that got a nickname based on their personalities.

“Bartender-chaaaaan! Oh, how I missed you dearly~ did you perhaps yearn of me during our long absence together! I’m here now, to save you from the ruffians-”

This was one of the select few that got the special treatment. The president of Aoba, who dealt with industries both above and underground, who you affectionately refer to as-

“Oh! Welcome, Piece of Shit! It’s been a while!”

“Bartender-chan! How could you?”

“Call me using ‘chan’ one more time, and I’ll call the owner on you, Piece of Shit.”

“My apologies, Bartender-san!”

The man that just pushed open the dark door is wearing a crisp, all-white Armani suit. His locks of chocolate are perfectly curled at the ends, and his hazel eyes scan the establishment - the same landscape on the back wall, three booths, and bar counter. Of course, same bartender too. 

On the inside, he smiles. He's glad nothing has changed.

He places his hands on his hips as he walks down the stairs. “Hmph! Fine then, Bartender- _san._ It seems you didn’t miss me at all. I haven’t either.” He turns his head away from you as he takes a seat at his stool.

“Oi, Piece of Shit, who was the one that said they just ‘missed Bartender-san dearly’ just now?” A gruff voice speaks up. The door reveals a man wearing a casual dark suit, and he too walks down the stairs. “Yo, Bartender-san. Nice seeing you again.”

“Mr. Musclehead! Almost thought you guys forgot about Bar Eden,” you chuckle, and set out some glasses. “Wouldn’t know what I’d do without my top money-sheller.”

“Bartender-san, I’m hurt! Is our relationship really just formed on financial transactions?” The polished man forms his mouth into a pout. 

“Uh huh. It’s called a job.”

“Meanie Bartender-san!”

“Keep it down, you Piece of Shit.” He slaps the back of his partner’s head. “Sorry to disappear for a bit. Tending to this guy was a major pain in the ass. We’ll have the usual.”

“Oh, what happened?” The Four Roses bourbon and Johnny Walker Black whiskey are quickly in your hands and uncapped.

(The owner always pestered you to reach for the Van Winkle instead since Piece of Shit clearly has more than enough money than necessary, but you informed him you were not wasting a perfectly good bottle for a few drops inside a mixed drink).

“Stupid Piece of Shit idiot up and got himself hurt, that’s what. Barely just made it in time for the skirmish the other day too because of it. We even told him to take this one off since it’s just a small one, but he just had to tag along.”

“Johnny Walker Black Rocks, water back,” you slide the glass to the man, who says a word of thanks. “But Piece of Shit got himself hurt? What exactly were you thinking?”

The man in question frowns. “Why are you sounding more and more like Muscle-chan? I made a heroic sacrifice-”

“Stupid useless move-”

“to save my members-”

“completely unnecessary-”

“from a desperate situation-”

“which we had under control-”

“Muscle-chan! Can you stop interrupting me?” He sticks his tongue out. “This is why you aren’t popular with women, they don’t want you interrupting them! Meanwhile, I truly am a messiah. Oh, I can see the wings sprouting from my back. This must be my calling,” he extends his arms out, looking upwards. “I am a god!”

“You’re an absolute piece of shit, Piece of Shit.”

You stir the mixture of sugar, bitters, and a bit of water while listening (enjoying) their banter. “Mr. Musclehead has his own charms, Piece of Shit.” You pour in the bourbon.

“Bartender-san, why are you complimenting Muscle-chan now? Don’t tell me you and him had a secret rendezvous! Oh, how could you Muscle-chan!” He puts on an air of shock.

Finalizing the drink with an orange peel garnish, you slide it over to the Piece of Shit.

“Your Four Roses Old-Fashioned. And what’s your business with knowing what I did with Mr. Musclehead? You left me alone here for so long too,” you huff dramatically.

He eagerly takes a long sip. “Mm, still as delicious as always! I should really hire you for my bar in the main building.”

“If you want to get disposed of by Owner-san, be my guest.”

Your bartender-patron relationship with these two is quite unique, for lack of a better term.

The first day the well-groomed man entered your bar (he personally knows the owner), you hadn’t expected the owner to be familiar with such a high-class man, since most of the patrons were tattooed and boisterous.

Also old. However, he had a radiant youthful aura to him, which took you by surprise. The silent man next to him looked more like a regular patron, but he lacked the telltale signs of aging around the corners of his eyes.

When he took a seat in front of you, he studied you for a bit with a smile, emanating an air of pomp and decadence. Dealing with these types of people wasn't exactly new for you, but you still had a small bundle of nerves jumping around.

“Oh, seems like Owner-chan has picked up quite a lovely little bartender! Say, why don’t I take you out someplace nice after your shift? I’m sure you’re quite exhausted after dealing with all the uncultured lowlifes. I’ve been told I give good service too,” he had said, giving you a cheeky wink.

Then those nerves turned into pure annoyance.

“Fuck off please,” you had replied, returning the smile, entirely unsure what the hell this man was doing (the please was for manners, the owner stressed the importance of manners a lot). 

His pretty face morphed into a look of complete and utter shock, so wildly unexpected at your words that the man next to him, who hadn’t said a single word yet, guffawed loudly. “You deserved that, you piece of shit!”

Since then, you had learned to be a lot less _blunt_ and a little more _passive-aggressive_ with your attitude towards him, but when the moment called for it, you were never one to back down from a full-on attack.

“Wait a minute. Bartender-san. Did you… actually miss my presence?” He cups his glass, doe-eyes wide open at you.

“Yeah, there’s nobody else I can make fun of as freely, Piece of Shit,” you grin. “‘Sides, you never did finish that story about aliens.”

“Ugh, please don’t get him started on that,” the man with the heavy eyebrows groans, downing more of his whiskey. The Piece of Shit ignores him and puffs his chest out in pride. 

“I knew Bartender-san was special the moment I walked in here! Where did I leave off?”

“Something about the company being in the works of building a satellite to better initiate contact with Planet OIS-3482?” 

“Bartender-san, how the hell did you remember that?”

“Us bartenders have good memories, what can I say?”

“Muscle-chan, it’s because Bartender-san actually takes interest in my amazing hobbies. Anyways, we’re almost done with it! I think we’ll be launching it soon. We just have to paint my handsome face on it! Which reminds me-” He wiggles his eyebrows towards you, holding up his glass and sipping the last couple drops. “You should come watch the launch with us! Well, mostly with me. But we can have Muscle-chan next to us!” 

“I’ll pass,” the burly man grumbles. “Your so-called satellite is just a bunch of gimmicks launching into the sky.”

“Muscle-chan! That’s rude! Fine then, it’ll just be me and Bartender-san! So, what do you say?”

The president’s eyes are sparkling with a childlike innocence, rather than the sultry, haughty look he has when he’s out in public.

It fits him more.

“We’ll see. Maybe if you aren’t a piece of shit tonight,” you smirk, and start the next Old-Fashioned.

“Yay! I got a date with Bartender-san!”

“I said, if you aren’t a piece of shit tonight!”

* * *

“Bartender-san, you really are amazing, you know that?” Akane remarks, while wiping down the bar top.

“Oh, I’m aware. What brought this on though?” You’re checking the register for today’s sales.

“Usually that man - Oikawa-san? - has people flocking to him left and right, but you seem so… unaffected by it.”

“I don’t like pieces of shit.”

“Is he really that bad? He seemed nice at the bar. Didn’t know he had that side to him.”

“Well, that’s what a bar does, especially this one. Strips you of your status and your age, and lets you be your true self with a drink or two. That man has a heart, deep down beneath all the trash he shows.”

“He ordered an Old-Fashioned, right? That’s one of the oldest drinks in the books. Also really simple too. ” 

“You’ve been studying well, I’m proud!”

“Yeah, I really like learning this stuff! But I'm surprised somebody like Oikawa-san gets an Old-Fashioned. I was expecting the man next to him, or maybe that one scary guy to get one.” 

_The owner should be happy about today’s sales._ You take a couple bills from the register and pass it to Akane as her pay for the night. 

“Think about it like this: He’s a man surrounded by all the things he could ever wish for, especially luxury goods. Sometimes a person just needs a humble drink at the end of the day, forget about all the wealth.”

 _Kind of similar to a certain rival of his._

“Oh, that makes sense! Thank you for telling me, Bartender-san!”

“Also, that was the only drink I knew of when he first came in. What a piece of shit for him to have the audacity to say ‘surprise me, Bartender-chan!’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a beautiful president and his top man make their entrance! I changed a bit of stuff from the first chapter, in case you're wondering why they're using names during off-hours. hope you enjoyed this one, it was pretty fun to write! as always, comments/kudos very much appreciated.


	4. blood connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They flow together like no other. One who's a master of words and tongues, always keeping everybody on their toes. One who’s stalwart and immovable strength nobody could break through. One who’s a walking time bomb. And one at the heart of it all, the one who controls everything, everywhere.
> 
> Before their prey knows it, they’ve caught up with you, tired you out, and are ready to rip you to shreds.

“Akane-chan, if you can’t mix drinks, don’t worry about it too much.”

“But Bartender-san! You look so cool when you do it! And I want to be more useful than just running around and doing chores!”

“The role of a barback is quite valuable, you know. It is a heavy burden that is lifted off the bartender’s shoulders when they see the bar in top form. I can grab anything, knowing it’ll be filled, use any glass, knowing it’ll be clean. All that’s left for me to do, is to do my job.”

Akane’s attempt for the 10th time at a gin and tonic was quite frankly, disastrous. 

She knew what spirits to use. The right amount for each. How to shake and stir. But something always managed to go wrong, whether it be some accidental mishap or confusing the steps.

“I know my role is important, but I wish there was something more I can do for the customers…” she pouts, crossing her arms. “Is there really anything else I can’t do?”

Your eyes wander around the establishment. Honestly, there really wasn’t much to be covered. You manned the bar, the owner all the legal, illegal, and financial things, Akane with everything else. 

Everything else.

Your eyes settle on the 3 booths some ways in front of you, which can seat four people comfortably at each. The dark mahogany tables usually held somebody’s drink, a card game, mahjong, or a book. A small part of you thought they could be used for something more.

A lightbulb goes off in your head. 

Of course! Why didn’t you think of this before?

“Akane-chan… I think I might have an idea.”

* * *

“Bartender-san, where’s your bar cat? It feels like this whole place is a lie if you say there’s a cat here, but you never see it. I’m gonna complain to your owner about this!” 

“Complain all you want Mr. Rooster, but perhaps the cat is just disgusted by whatever cologne you have on.”

That held a grain of truth. 

“Hey now, I got this from Europe! Bartender-san, have you ever stepped out of this country before? Never mind that, what about Edo? I’m tellin’ you, there’s a whole wide world out there to explore,” the permanent bedhead smirks, raising his mug of draft beer.

Mr. Rooster had a way of grating one’s nerves with every word that slipped out of his mouth, but you’re quite used to it by now. 

“Believe it or not, I make trips to Italy and France with the owner on a yearly basis. The air over there is quite nice. I think Puddinghead might enjoy the place, but it might be too, ah, _refined_ for your tastes, Mr. Rooster.”

OK, so maybe not exactly true, since you actually haven't left Japan before, but it still held a grain a truth.

“Exactly what is that supposed to mean? If you want to talk about unrefined characters, our own cat’s a mess. Just what in the world was our boss thinking when he hired him,” he shakes his head. “I swear he still can’t hold a sword properly! Even Puddinghead has trouble directing him.”

“Mr. Rooster, it’s because you drink that cheap draft beer stuff Bartender-san calls you unrefined! Real men drink shochu! Shochu is the best after a long day of work,” a short, light-brown haired man says, sitting three seats away. He sips on his cup of Satsuma shochu and lets out a satisfied sigh, his face already sporting the telltale signs of a red flush.

“Mr. Hen, shochu’s only for New Years and holidays! Beer is the way to go!”

“Your beer’s only empty calories! Shochu’s definitely the best!”

“The both of you, be quiet,” a booming voice from the booth calls out. “Whatever this whiskey is, it’s the best!” 

“And you need to chill out, that’s my wine,” another voice, quieter, says exasperatedly.

On the outside, Nekoma looks just like a group of regular people, but they run one of the red light district's biggest brothels. Their men were trained diligently in the art of defense, mainly to guard against customers who take things a bit too far. Rarely did women try to make their escape.

Mr. Rooster chuckles uncontrollably. “Mohawk, are you really out of it after only a couple of glasses? Didn’t know you had that much trouble holding in your alcohol.” 

“I can hold mine just fine! All I need is willpower and determination!” The man with the blond mohawk thumps his chest. He looked just like a yakuza member wearing a white muscle top that showed off the tattoos decorating his arms and chest. 

“And those things get you absolutely nowhere in your liver, stupid Mohawk-san,” Akane huffs, bursting out of the kitchen doors, holding up a slice of apple pie on a plate in one hand. “One slice of apple pie for Puddinghead-san!” She sets the plate down on the table.

“Bartender-san, since when did you guys start doing food?” the shortest one of the bunch asks.

“Pony-chan over there had some trouble mixing drinks, and the kitchen that the owner recently upgraded isn’t really in use, so I had the amazing idea to have Pony-chan make some dishes. Considering how she complained that her older brother was ‘absolutely shitty at cooking’, I decided to let her have a go.”

“Oh, that sounds quite like a shitty brother I know too,” Mr. Rooster pipes up. “What a small world we live in.”

The owner was initially against hiring Akane, since she has a brother in Nekoma, but with due persuasion on your part, and her not being remotely interested in the underworld, he eventually caved and hired Akane as a barback.

“This apple pie is good,” Puddinghead says in between bites. “I can see why the younger sister cooks instead. I bet the brother thinks willpower and determination is all he needs to cook.”

“But isn’t it? As long as you believe in yourself, be courageous, you can cook anything!”

“Mohawk-san, your idiocy really knows no bounds.”

“Mohawk, I’m not taking you here anymore.”

“Mohawk, I have to agree with Mr. Rooster on this one.”

“Mohawk-san, please exit the bar. You’re an embarrassment.”

“The four of you, wait just a moment! Pony-chan, Mr. Rooster, Mr. Hen, and Puddinghead, you all are forgetting something terribly important. Our dear Mohawk can’t go yet,” you interject. The man who’d been on the receiving end of quite a few jabs tonight turns to you, eyes about to tear up, as if he had been visited by an angel.

“Bartender-san… Could you possibly be my sav-”

“Mohawk still needs to pay his bill before he goes.” 

The atmosphere in the bar freezes for a second at your declaration, then it explodes into raucous laughter.

“You heard Bartender-san! Now pay up, and get mine while you’re at it!”

“I can’t believe such a shitty kyodai like you exists! Mr. Hen, can you please help me out here?”

“My apologies, but you’re on your own for this one.”

“Even Mr. Hen has abandoned me… Oh God, what did I do to deserve this?” He groans, placing his head in his hands. You walk over to their booth with a bottle of Yamazaki in your hand.

“Now now, Mohawk, it’s alright. Here, lift yourself up with this,” you smile, pouring him a generous amount of the spirit,

“Thank you Bartender-san… Wait, isn’t this a Yamazaki? Are you trying to make me die financially too now?” 

“With your willpower and determination, I’m sure you can pay it off! I’ll put it on your tab.”

“You heard Bartender-san. This’ll be a piece of cake for you! By the way, can I try some of that Yamazaki too? I’m feeling a bit adventurous today, Bartender-san!”

“You too, Mr. Rooster?”

“Oh right, let’s place bets on what our dear little newcomer would get as his first drink!” Mr. Rooster calmly deflects the question. “I gotta introduce him to the beer.”

“First, I’d hit him for calling me short, then I’d get him shochu. Can’t go wrong with a classic Japanese drink, through and through!” Mr. Hen nods.

“Eh? You dissin’ on the Yamazaki now? Gotta be Yamazaki, even if it breaks my wallet!” Mohawk shouts.

“Wouldn’t he get some vodka? Heritage and all.” Puddinghead pipes up. 

“Oh, is the newcomer a Russian?” You ask.

(Though you already know the answer thanks the the owner and a tiny crush a certain barback has.)

“He’s half, but he says he’s Japanese born and raised. Maybe he wouldn’t get a vodka then?” The black-haired man thinks out loud. “Well, whatever! His fault for not coming here today. Invited him and all, but says he wants to do some practice instead. Though I feel like he might shoot himself in an accident.”

“Mr. Rooster-san, don’t say that!” Akane, who had been watching the scene unfold quietly, suddenly gasps. “What if he gets fatally injured?”

“That guy’s not that stupid, Pony-chan. I can assure you he wouldn’t do that,” the blonde-haired man says, albeit with an apathetic tone. “Though we should probably head back soon, in case something bad does happen.”

“Knowin’ him, he’s probably off catchin' a cat somewhere.”

“Didn’t Mr. Rooster say even Puddinghead has a hard time directing him? He must be quite the character,” you muse.

“I still don’ understand why boss ended up hirin’ that man,” Mr. Hen groans. “The only thing he’s got is his ridiculous height, but he can’t even use it prop’ly yet! Why be that tall if ya can’t even do anything with it? Go be an athlete instead!”

Mr. Hen's face is now properly flushed red. You take a quick mental note to serve him some water later.

“His reach with the katana must be pretty impressive, no?” 

“Ah yeah, he’s got a super crazy swing. But nowadays, those pistols and handguns are poppin’ up more and more, our ole’ swords won’t be of use much.” 

“No need to worry just yet though, it’s not like there’s mass amounts of that newfangled technology are bein’ shipped here,” Mr. Rooster remarks. “Though, I guess the boys in the company might be secretly making ‘em. And that crazy rich one. Still, I’ve told the boss we should consider expanding our weaponry, and he gives us a half-Russian?” He shakes his head. “What a world we live in.”

“I’m sure he’ll become useful once he’s fully connected to your team.”

“Bartender-san, he’s trying to steal my position though! Barges right into the team and has the nerve to call himself top man already! Who does he even think he is?” Mohawk whines.

“But Mohawk, I’m sure he’s no problem for you if you two ended up dueling for your position. After all, you’ve got…”

“Willpower and determination!” Everybody choruses, bursting into laughter.

* * *

An hour later, you change out of your bartending clothes and are about to make your way home, when the black door swings open again.

“Sorry, we’re closed for the night- Oh, Owner-san. Welcome back.”

A masked man waltzes down the steps, a periwinkle scarf fluttering behind him. You often commented on how outrageous his fashion choices are, and today is no different with his gaudy baroque print suit jacket paired with flaming red pants and cowboy boots, paired with the usual golden mask.

(Of all things, cowboy boots and the mask are things he absolutely refused to give up).

“Bartender-chan, can you believe it? I just picked up these new babies-” he says, two guns twirling in his hands. “They’re fresh off the boat, got them on my trip. Thanks to yours and Akane-chan’s wonderful services, I could get two!”

(He's the only person in the world that deserved the right to call you "Bartender-chan").

“Nagasaki, right? And yet you’re still unbelievably pale under all that, I bet. Glad to hear we’re great profit machines,” you sigh languidly. “Oh, what happened to your sword?”

“Back home. I’m still keeping it for the time being, but these two lovely ladies will be my new means of attack. Bang! Bang!” the owner mockingly shoots the two guns at a target in the distance.

“Alright, can you please put them away before you actually shoot something? If you shoot the Dom Perignon, that’s entirely your fault.”

“What a party pooper you are, Bartender-chan. Fine, I’ll be heading home now. Cheers!”

_He could at least give me the sword._


	5. claps of thunder under the stone god

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody’s scared of him. A look that screamed “danger”, “stay away”, “warning”. Maybe he isn’t the first to be noticed in the battle, but once his great sword comes down, only then do people realize his power. Tailor by day and samurai by night, there is nothing his needle that couldn’t create nor his sword that couldn’t cleave.
> 
> \--
> 
> He talks fast and loud to not hear the ringing in his ears. He’s the one that lit up a tree as a kid for fun, then a tunnel, then a person. Even though he doesn’t fight on the front lines, with him as vanguard, there was nothing to worry about. The Guardian Deity, nobody knows what he’ll do next.
> 
> \--
> 
> Loud, brash, obnoxious. Just what anybody would expect in his profession. When they beg for mercy he laughs in their faces, telling them to say hi to the god of the underworld for him. He swings down his sword in a frenzy, the Vermillion Dragon flowing flowing through his veins.

On Thursdays at around 9 PM, another duo from the crows shows up at the bar, two people who are polar opposites of each other. It had been a while since their last visit, the owner mentioning something about an internal fallout between some of the members. 

“Oof—forgot how heavy this door was! Yo, Bartender-san! Looking cute as always!” A short man with spiky black hair that held a streak of blond enters the bar, followed behind by a tall man, long hair let down. 

“Oh, if isn’t Mr. Tailor and Mr. Thunder! Thank you, and welcome boys! What can I getcha tonight?” You greet the two men, one who’s practically bouncing over to his usual spot, the other trying his best to look as inconspicuous as possible. 

“A Flaming Volcano! Haven’t had that in a while!”

“A Camus Sidecar, please.”

“Hard-boiled as always, Mr. Tailor!”

"Not entirely..."

“Right on it! Pony-chan, some assistance.”

“Understood, Bartender-san!”

The Flaming Volcano, single-person version, had a brilliant blue color that enticed the short man when he first walked into the bar. 

Also because it’s on fire.

You finish mixing the ingredients - vodka, syrup, falernum, lemon-lime soda with a bit more than normal - and pour in the blue curaçao, the brilliant blue color's wisps sinking into the pale drink and eventually overtaking it, and hull out a lime, filling it with 151-proof rum and adding it to the hurricane glass. The man with spiky hair watches intently at your every move, while the tailor sits slightly back.

“Don’t worry, you’re not gonna catch on fire!” You had once told him. 

“I’m aware, but things like this are still… kind of scary, in a way. Sorry,” he replied, nervously chuckling. 

“Alright, you ready, Mr. Thunder?” You light the lighter. Akane is standing a bit to the side, watching in awe. 

“Yep! Go right ahead!” Even after ordering the same drink since the moment he’s stepped in the bar, his face always holds the same childlike curiosity he had when he first saw the drink.

With a dramatic flick of your wrist, you light the top of the drink on fire. A small flame roars to life on the surface of the drink, and the short man claps his hand in delight.

“And now your Sidecar, Mr. Tailor.” You take out a coupe glass, combine the Camus, orange liquor, and lemon juice. 

“Bartender-san, I’ve been meaning to ask this for a while now, but why is the door to the bar so heavy?” Mr. Thunder asks while sipping on his drink, the flame now gone.

“Oh that? It’s because of you guys,” you reply, shaking the shaker. “A bar is like a hideout, right? So the door kind of acts like a guardian to the outside world for you all.” You strain the mixture into a cocktail glass, decorate the rim with sugar and slide it over to the long-haired man. “That’s why it’s also pretty inconspicuous too.”

“That makes sense! Thank you for the information! I see me and the door are similar spirits. We are both _ikkitousen!_ The door is a warrior of itself too!” 

“Mm, I can kind of see that, but I think the door is more just a heavy wooden object than anything else,” you chuckle.

“Bartender-san, that’s where you’re wrong. As a strong warrior myself, I can sense the door has _ishikengo_.” He looks at the door, firmly nodding his head. “It’s a guardian deity just like myself!”

“Is that right? I guess I don’t have any, since I can’t see it…” The tailor also looks at the black wooden door, drink in hand. 

“Mr. Tailor! You mustn’t think like that! I can definitely see that, yours is strong as well!” He grabs the taller man’s shoulders, shaking them. 

“I can as well, Mr. Tailor. Both in the world of fashion and your organization.”

“Ah, really now? I’m glad to hear that,” he replies, putting a hand behind his neck. “Honestly, I was pretty worried for a while about my abilities, which is why I took a break for a while, but I’m glad the family is always supporting me. It really helps a lot.”

“What do you think families are for, Mr. Tailor? It’s in the name! We’re your brothers! _Rikuryokukyoushin_! We trust in you, just as you trust in us!” Mr. Thunder pounds his chest. “Plus, we can’t be losing to the new members now, right? Especially since one of them was the one that brought us back!”

“Who was that?” You ask.

“Have you seen the orange-haired shortie around here? Apparently he caused a lot of trouble on his first day, but he’s a good kid! Got a lot of spirit too! When he called me kyodai-” he closes his eyes, relishing the moment “-I was truly and deeply touched!”

“Oh, Orangey! Wow, he’s already doing a good job carrying his weight around, hmm?”

“He does seem to want to steal my position,” the tailor muses. “He’s definitely got more talent and vigor than I do-”

“Oi Mr. Tailor, what did we just say earlier? Me and Bartender-san? You’re plenty skilled enough! Without you in the family, I wouldn’t be there either, remember that!”

“Mr. Thunder is right, Mr. Tailor. Our owner has high praise for what you’ve been making him, and I know how outlandish and particular his senses of clothing are, so consider everybody at the bar here your supporters too.”

“I don’t know what to say…” he stammers, looking down at his drink. “I’m really grateful for everybody’s support. I hope I can live up to everybody’s standards for me…”

“You already have, Mr. Tailor,” you smile. “Especially your friend’s over here.”

“Bartender-san is right! You’re strong! You’re _kokkubenrei_! That’s why I never want you to ever admit defeat so easily, and trust in us to support your sword! You’re our top hitter, after all! I can’t do much for everybody else but protect everybody’s backs as the vanguard, so I’m counting on you to do the rest!” Mr. Thunder pats the man’s back with such strength that it sends him forward, almost knocking into the counter. “Oh, careful there,” you say, pushing him back up. 

“Thank you, Bartender-san, and Mr. Thunder,” he smiles. 

“Anytime, Mr. Tailor,” you smile back.

“Oi, you guys were already here?” A loud voice booms from the door. The three of you turn around to see a tanned, bald man standing at the top of the steps, his upper body covered in tattoos. “Man, and I spent forever searching around for you guys!” He walks (bounces) down the stairs to the stool next to Mr. Thunder.

“Oh, Buddha’s here now? Welcome, welcome! Midori Sour again?”

“You know me so well, Bartender-san!” He bursts out into mock tears. “I’d protect you with my entire body! Oh, but after our goddess is safe though.”

“Bartender-san, don’t worry! I got you too! Just let me know if there’s any bad guys trying to get you, we’ll get rid of them in a jiffy!” He grins, giving you a big thumbs up.

“Thank you, both of you, I appreciate it!” You grab the bottle of Midori and light rum, while Akane hands you some freshly blended pineapple juice. 

“I’ll try my best too!” the tailor says, an uncharacteristically serious look on his face. 

“Thank you as well, Mr. Tailor.” You start mixing the ingredients in a shaker.

_With our one hell of an owner though, we probably won’t be needing the extra help._

“Say, Bartender-san, does a goddess ever bless this place? She’s beautiful, has long black hair, wearing glasses, beautiful...” The bald one turns his attention to the green mixture you’re pouring out with intensity rivalling Mr. Thunder’s.

“We aren’t allowed to disclose who our other patrons are. Though, many pretty women have walked through the door, if that helps.”

(You knew exactly who he was talking about. She did.)

“Ooh, I wonder if we’ll ever be able to meet up!” Buddha sighs, and you slide him the green melon liqueur drink. A large grin forms on his mouth as he takes the drink, savoring its taste. “Much appreciated, Bartender-san!”

“Just doing my job here. How’s everybody’s work been going?”

“My shop’s been doing well, though I could get a couple more customers though…”

“Our skirmish with that big company went fine, but at the end their boss showed up, so that was kind of bad.”

“The new members have been alright, surprisingly, even if they gave us all headaches to deal with! It’s my job to look out after them!”

“But Buddha, aren’t you and Mr. Thunder quite the rowdy bunch too?”

“Bartender-san, did you really have to point that out? By the way, why do you call him with the ‘mister’ in front? I’m just a Buddha, isn’t that a bit unfair?”

“Mr. Thunder himself chose the nickname, so that’s why I call him Mr. Thunder. Since I’ve already decided to call you Buddha, there’s no changing now.”

“Bartender-san… sometimes you can be really harsh, you know…”

The three of them end up staying until closing time, two in particular with their wallets a bit more drained than they’d probably prefer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ikkitousen: a warrior as strong as 1000 warriors (which noya has a shirt of)
> 
> ishikengo: strong determination/purpose
> 
> rikuryokukyoushin: solidarity/working together
> 
> kokkubenrei: being ardurous/working diligently through hardships
> 
> since noya likes 4-word idioms, I decided to include some in his speech. 
> 
> in case any of you out there watch gintama, the Camus/hardboiled thing is a reference to that.  
> sorry if tanaka's part is short for you in this one, I promise he'll be back later.


	6. night skies and pineapple slices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gentle sea, the soft pelt of a rabbit, the taste of vanilla. Quiet he may be, unnoticed he may be, but everybody always relied on him in their times of need. Eventually, his time will come, and he will shine as brightly as the sun. For now, he waits in the cover of the shade, biding his time. For now, he is not satisfied.
> 
> \--
> 
> His blade is sharpened to such a degree that the full moon’s glow forever lives in its cold steel, because he believes the last thing his victims should see is the beauty of Tsukuyomi, forever separated from the day.
> 
> It was an act of mercy and generosity for the pathetic bugs he squashed, he had once said. 
> 
> \--
> 
> A constellation splashed on his face, the scent of ancient pine mixed with ammo forever lingers on his suit. Some may call him a coward for his tactics, but to him, it’s the only way he can fight. 
> 
> He had once said he would take however long needed to fulfil his duty, until the end of time became the beginning of it all again.

“Bartender-chan, have you seen the other two members of Karasuno in here yet?”

“Nah. Don’t worry though, I’m sure they’ll come later.”

“Alright then. I’ll be at my usual spot. Do some good business today.”

* * *

A couple days later, a man dressed in a simple dark suit walks through the doors with two men, one a blond wearing simple frames and the other a muted dark green hair color, in tow. 

“Sleepyhead, welcome! I see you’ve brought two new ones with you today.”

“Good evening, Bartender-san. I know Mr. Crew Cut and Mr. Grey are usually the ones introducing the new people, but since they’re busy, they left it to me.”

“Welcome to Bar Eden, the two of you! What can I get everybody tonight?”

“I’ll have my Piña Colada as usual.”

“Do you have anything with strawberries?” The blond one asks. 

“No problem. And for the other?”

“Um… I’m not sure what to get. Sorry, it’s my first time at one of these places…” His soft voice trails off.

“No worries, I’ll mix up something for you. Make yourselves comfortable,” you gesture to the stools, and they take their seats. 

You hum underneath your breath to the pop song currently on the radio as you get out the ingredients. Akane had brought in a fresh bunch of strawberries from the small garden she tended to just the other day, which made an excellent juice. 

“You got lucky, making your appearance here today. Had you come in at an earlier time, the strawberries wouldn’t be as fresh,” you said while setting some bottles on the counter.

“Mr. Thunder and Buddha were really pushing for these two to come in too. Said they were really interested in hearing the nicknames, I think they see it as a second baptism.”

“It’s become that big now? I’m honored to hear it. Let’s see… alright, you will be Glasses,” you point to the blond, “-and you will be Freckles.”

“Isn’t that a bit too crude? Even a child could come up with something like that," Glasses says with an irritated tone.

“As I always say to my patrons, if you have any other nicknames in mind, please let me know. Besides, what were you expecting?”

“But Ts- er, Glasses is right, ‘Glasses’ and ‘Freckles’ seem… too simple,” the green-haired one says, scratching the back of his head. “Though I guess I can’t come up with any other ideas.”

“These names are just a one-and-done thing. I'm not gonna start naming you lot after the gods, that's too much effort. The first thing that pops into my head is it.” A shaker with pineapple juice, rum, cream of coconut, and ice is now in your hands. “Besides, I think your freckles are quite the nice feature on you.”

A slight blush starts forming on his cheeks. “Th-thank you very much!” He stammers. 

“Wow, it’s only his first day here and Freckles already gets a compliment. The others would be dying to be in his position right now.”

“Is this bartender really somebody that special?” Glasses cuts in.

“Oi, I'm considered one of the best in the town.”

“Can I ask what you’ve decided to make for us, then?”

“That’ll be a surprise.”

You pour out what’s in the shaker into a hurricane glass, and serve it to the man on the far left. “Here, your Piña Colada.” He gives a word of thanks, and takes a sip. 

“Refreshing as always.”

Another subdued silence settles between them as you start the strawberry drink, getting out two highball glasses.

“I’ve been meaning to ask this, but how did the skirmish with that company go the other day? I hope nobody’s hurt that much?”

(Of course, you already knew what went down, but it’s just for conversation’s sake).

When the quieter members of groups came in without their noisy counterparts, you tended to take control of the conversation, unless they wanted to be left alone, like a certain curly-haired man. 

“Oh, it went alright, though I think their boss showed up near the end, which did put a bit of a damper on everybody’s spirits. The other two new ones - I think you call them Orangey and V Bang? Did quite well.”

At the mention of the names, the blond one lets out a slight sound of disgust.

“Is there something of the matter with those two, Glasses?” You ask, pouring in a Beefeater gin, strawberry syrup, lime juice, and tonic water into one of the highball glasses.

“It’s just something trivial.”

“Well, our bar does allow for any and all sorts of talk to happen in here. I personally think a drink or two is the best way to get a couple things off your chest,” you reply, sliding the highball glass towards him. “And here you are, a strawberry gin and tonic.”

The blond cautiously looks at the rose-tinted drink, picks it up, and takes a sip. 

“This is… pretty good.”

“Of course it is. And with that, I hope I have earned a bit of your trust,” you exaggeratedly do a polite bow, and start the final drink with the last highball glass.

“The two of them are just an annoying duo. Sometimes incredibly dense and idiotic,” he sighs. “Especially the orange one. For some reason he always has to do everything to the limits, and then some more, but never takes into account his surroundings.”

“That little one was pretty energetic when he walked in. Though I’m not supposed to tell you this-” you drop your voice to a conspiratorially low tone “-he almost said the name of one of his brothers, too.” You add some hard ice into the glass, and then pour in some Suntory Toki and cold water.

The blond chuckles, albeit a bit snarkily. “That does sound like something he’d do.”

“I bet he asked where the menu was,” the freckled one adds. 

“I’m not going to say whether you’re right or not, but here’s your Mizuwari.” You slide the whiskey and water mix to him.

“Isn’t the Mizuwari just a watered-down drink?” Glasses asks, while Freckles raises the glass to his lips.

“It’s a cocktail in its own right, if made correctly.”

Freckles takes a sip.

“Wow, the flavor of this is really light, but it’s still refreshing,” he exclaims. “Thank you very much Bartender-san! This is really good!”

“Glad to hear it!”

“Now I can finally mark this off your to-do list to become a member,” Sleepyhead remarks. 

“Eh, there was that kind of list?” 

“Of course not. Just messing with you.”

“By the way, what’s everybody’s opinions on the resident sleepyhead over here?” You ask.

“Bartender-san, I’m not that interesting-”

“Please be quiet for a second.”

Glasses is the first to speak. “I think Sleepyhead-san is a very reliable person compared to the other kyodai.”

“If anything, he’s almost like the boss of his age group,” Freckles says. “Especially - er, what did you call them again? I think it was Mr. Thunder and Buddha-san? In a way, they kind of remind me of Orangey and V Bang.”

“Sometimes they don’t even act like our kyodai with how wild they get.”

“I know what you mean. They go on about being good role models for you guys, but I think they could use some themselves. Though, I guess I’m not much in a position to say anything, given that I don’t do much.”

“I think all of you guys are great role models, no matter your past.” You look directly into his somewhat-downturned eyes and smile. “Besides, I’m sure you’ll come to achieve great things.”

* * *

As you’re just about ready to go home, the owner struts through the front door. 

“Good work, Bartender-chan. It seems as though there’s going to be another storm brewing on the horizon in the endless battle of conquest.” He does a pivot down the stairs and hops over to a stool.

“Could you please get to the point?”

“There’s no need to rush, my dear. It just seems like the dynamic duo of Karasuno had their little run in with the eagles the other day.”

“Are you serious? Did they get hurt?”

“No, not at all. I think one of the big bosses just looked over the situation.”

“The eagles, huh? I wonder if anybody can actually defeat them this year.”

“We will have to wait and see, darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how I want to write each chapter is still developing. this work is like a living, breathing entity - nothing about it is structured/set in stone with how to write, so my apologies if it seems so scattered. the main focus will always be on the dialogue between the characters, but how much extra stuff I add around it is still in the works.  
> (aka not even god knows what the fuck I'm doing with whatever the hell this is my deepest apologies)
> 
> concerning this chapter, I wanted to give you all a breather between the craziness that was the last two. 
> 
> (this one also turned into a love ennoshita group session at the end he deserves it tho)


	7. silence and the flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daunting. Looming over everything else, a man of few actions and even fewer words. Effortlessly directing people to where he wants them to be, in such a way that when it happens, it’s already over. 
> 
> \--
> 
> Graceful. A head of muted coral, a man seemingly innocuous and gentle. Eyes trained on everybody’s moves, his power sends ripples through the waters with just a simple touch. A delicate weaving of threads through his fingers, changing the fates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iwaizumi's nickname has been changed to Mr. Musclehead so the man in here is now Eyebrows.

“Personally, I think Pony-chan should try making some cream puffs. Not too simple but not too complex either. I think they’d be pretty popular with the bar, so it’d make some good profits.”

“Isn’t that just your own personal preference speaking?”

“But you refuse to make cream puffs for me, so I have to get them somewhere, and it’s damn expensive getting them imported.”

“Do you even know what the recipe for cream puffs is? How am I even supposed to make them for you?”

“That’s why I want Pony-chan to make them for me. A cream puff packed with love-”

“Just gonna cut you off right there before you sound like a certain 7:3 hair ratio man.”

You’re currently listening to the conversation of two high-ranking employees from the Aoba company. Without a certain president of theirs here, they tend to be a lot more subdued in their actions, but once you brought up the topic of what they’d like to see on Akane’s menu, as she had asked for some suggestions, they got into an embroiling discussion about food.

“I still think those cheese-filled steaks would be a good idea. They’re filling and taste good. Probably much more simple to make compared to a cream puff.”

“If you want to eat steak, eat it for dinner, not at a bar! Bars are for drinks and light food.” The man with lightly colored hair downs the rest of his White Russian and slams it on the counter. “Yep, Bartender-san’s White Russians are the best. Piece of Shit should’ve really gotten you as our company bar’s bartender.”

“I’m honored to hear that, Mr. Cream. But I enjoy working at Bar Eden, so I’m not looking to relocate any time soon.”

“What a shame, really. Our boss was going on about how he’d find the best bartender to outdo this place, but something about drinking at your workplace just doesn’t seem right, you know? Even if he ‘specially built a new extension to the main building for it.” The man with thick eyebrows rivalling a certain Mr. Musclehead says.

(The owner had actually approached you about this, needing your opinion as to whether it would hurt business or not. You readily assured him nobody would ever want to go to that bar.)

“Knowing that Piece of Shit, I’m guessing he went all out for the French aesthetic?” You reply, starting another White Russian. 

“He went to France for one time over the summer and now he’s crazy for it,” Eyebrows sighs, swirling his whiskey in his hand. “What’s that thing called again? Phooey Grass? Head chef’s from France and makes that thing from goose liver. Wants to sweeten up the deals better with the luxury atmosphere, but it’s really just too much for the rest of us to handle.”

“I have a feeling Mr. Musclehead isn’t exactly the biggest fan of it either.” The heavy cream in the Old-Fashioned glass sinks down as you pour it in, mixing with the dark chocolate colors of the vodka and Kahlua. 

“Oh, he just about avoids that place as much as he can, but he’s usually dragged there as the bad cop guy,” Mr. Cream replies, nodding his head in thanks as you slide the second glass to him. “Something about him standing there menacingly helps to threaten the other guys.”

“He does give off that vibe,” you nod your head. “Speaking of him though, what happened to that practice duel you were pretty excited to have the other day?”

Eyebrows lets out a chuckle at this, while Mr. Cream looks a bit abashed, a light dusting of pink tinging his cheeks. “He got his ass handed to him nice and easy,” the messy-haired man croons, giving his partner a slap on the back. 

“Hey, I put up a decent fight against him, OK? Better than last time at least,” he grumbles. 

“Yeah, maybe lasting a second or so longer. Bartender-san, you should’ve seen this guy’s face after Musclehead pointed the sword tip to his throat. ‘It’s over now’,” he says, mimicking the victor’s voice. 

“Right right, I get it, I lost, how much are you gonna rub it into my face? I’m still winning against you.”

“I’d like to see you try that. Wanna go?” Mr. Cream leans closer to the man next to him.

“Please, the both of you, save the tension for your private time,” you butt in, holding up your hands. “I’m sure both of you are plenty strong, but I don’t think the bar cat nor I need to see this fight.”

A smirk appears on the ashy brown-haired man’s face. “Bartender-san, you can join us if you want-” 

“Oh, Mr. Eyebrows, do you want that filled up?” you cut him off before he could say anything devastating with a tight-lipped smile on your face.

“Yeah. This Hibiki stuff is pretty good. I’ll take it neat again.”

“My offer still stands-”

“Is that a Piece of Shit I hear?” Hand held to your ear, you pretend to listen closely to your surroundings. 

“But Bartender-san, aren’t you pretty strong physically too? Don’t you have to haul off the really inebriated customers?” Mr. Cream asks, sipping on his drink. 

“Our bar cat does all that.”

“That type of bar cat exists?”

“If you know where to look.”

“I feel like our new guy would want to fight your bar cat one day. He’s a pretty fighter-type of guy, though Mr. Musclehead always got him beat. Maybe he’ll stir up some kind of incident here to force out your bar cat,” Eyebrows muses. “Thinking about it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the cat around here, ever.”

“Well, the cat’s usually off doing cat things, it doesn’t really like people all that much. Even I’m not sure where he goes, but it’s none of my business.”

“Sounds like our new guy too. He’s technically hired as a mercenary though, so I guess it makes sense.”

“Your company really does go all out, doesn’t it?”

“Our boss is just that kind of person. At this point, I sometimes wonder what the company’s true focus is, with everything we deal with. He’s annoying as hell most of the time, but he does work hard. You didn’t hear that from me though.” Mr. Cream empties that last of his White Russian and sets it down on the table. “Thanks as always, Bartender-san.” He shells out a couple of bills and sets it on the counter.

“Thanks for the drink recommendation, I’ll see if I can get the boss to stock the HIbiki at our bar,” Eyebrows chimes, also setting out some bills. “See you next time, Bartender-san!”

“Thank you for coming, the both of you!” You wave at them and bow your head.

* * *

“Bartender-san, what kind of recommendations did you get today?” Akane asks while sweeping the ground.

“Oh… we got cream puffs, cheese-filled steak, ramen, super spicy mapo tofu, and dried squid.”

Akane’s eyes go glassy in response. “Exactly what do your patrons think of me as? I can barely manage the apple pie.”

“We believe in you, Akane-chan! Don’t give up hope!” You give the barback/chef a thumbs up in response. “Besides, I think the owner can probably help get some nice recipes for you next time he goes out.”

“Did dear Akane-chan call for me?” A voice calls out from the backroom. “If you want some recipes, I’ll get them the next time my heart fancies a trip to Nagasaki again. Oh, but maybe I should go to Europe this time...”

“Owner-san, can you please get me a sword before that?” Akane asks, eyes sparkling again.

“Me too. You can buy it with my pay.”

“Why are the both of you so obsessed with swords?”

“My wooden one’s getting too old to swing.” / “I just want one.”

You hear a sigh escape from his mouth. “Fine, fine, I’ll see what I can do. No promises!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you maybe think shiratorizawa would make their appearance after how last chapter ended? nah :). as always, thanks for reading!


	8. death by chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The embodiment of all things power. His eyes blaze with the soul of Minamoto-no-Yoshitsune, his every step makes the earth tremble, and his every swing slices mountains in half. Anything and everything that stands in his way will be felled by his sword. The great warlord lives on in his blade, a ruthless inferno. Everybody will be crushed by him.
> 
> \--
> 
> If you stand in front of him, he will immediately know what you’re thinking of. Strategy is useless against him; he will read it all. Thinking you can defeat him is useless; he will always be there to counter. An almost supernatural existence, flitting between here and the spirit world. Run away from him you can try, he will always catch up. Everybody will be powerless against him.

If somebody had asked you who was the strongest man in the north, you’d without a doubt say Ushijima Wakatoshi.

(The owner not included, but even he stayed his distance away from the man).

With an incredible power coupled with his already hard-to-guard left hand swing and his astonishing height, it was easy to choose him. He grew up in the family, which already held the title of being one of the strongest in the nation. 

If anybody saw him in Bar Eden, they too, would be able to tell just from the aura he emanates, from the subtle class he shows from his clothing to the cold, olive-green eyes that could silence anybody a mile away.

But you’re not intimidated at all because you’re, well, you.

“Bartender-saaaaan, good evening! The amazing Mr. Redhead has arrived!” A man barrels through the door, wearing an all-red suit the owner would’ve loved to get his hands on it. “Of course, with Mr. Olive right behind him!” He jazz-hands at the entrance of the tall man behind him, who’s wearing a sleek black suit. 

“Good evening, Bartender-san,” he rumbles, seemingly not paying attention to the man next to him.

“Welcome to Bar Eden, Mr. Redhead and Mr. Olive. What can I get you two tonight?” 

“Can you try mixing this new chocolate cocktail recipe I came up with?” the redhead asks, bouncing down the steps. 

“The usual, please,” the other one says.

“Sure thing. Speaking of recipes, our dear Pony-chan’s trying to expand her food menu, and she wants to get some recommendations from you all as to what to put on there,” you reply. 

“Chocolate, chocolate, and more chocolate!”

“Hayashi rice.”

 _Another strange combo. My apologies, Akane-chan._ “And what’s the new recipe you want me to make for you today, Mr. Redhead?”

Some patrons ordered personalized cocktails that only changed a couple of ingredients around, however, Mr. Redhead is the only one that gives you a completely original recipe to make every couple visits or so. 

A maniacal grin spreads across his face. “You’re gonna have so much fun with this one, Bartender-san! Are you ready?” 

You look over to Akane, standing at attention next to you. She looks a bit nervous, most likely due to the presence of Mr. Olive, but nods her head.

“As ready as you are, Mr. Redhead.”

“OK! 2 parts vodka, 1 part chocolate liqueur, 1 and a half part heavy cream, 1 part milk, and a bit of chocolate syrup! With ice. Also, some chocolate shavings on the rim, if possible! All of this in… a hurricane glass.” His hands gesture in all different directions as he rattles off each ingredient.

You get out the glass, milk, cream, and chocolate syrup, while Akane takes out the rest and sets it on the counter. Using the shaker, you combine everything together aside from the chocolate syrup and cream.

Finding chocolate in Japan is most likely impossible; but with the help of certain groups and the owner’s trips to Europe, Bar Eden is one of the very few bars that stock the delicious sweet.

You pour the light brown mixture into a hurricane glass, and then on top you add in the heavy cream and chocolate syrup and the whole drink barely reaches the top of the tall glass. With a dextrous hand, you rim the glass with chocolate shavings.

“And here you are. Any ideas as to what you’re naming this one?” You ask, handing the finished mixture to the man. Before he answers, his eyes widen in delight as he takes a long sip. 

“Ah, my amazing prowess strikes again! Of course, with Bartender-san’s wonderful skills as well,” he chirps, licking his lips. “Then… how about Death by Chocolate?”

“Understood, we’ll christen this Death by Chocolate then,” you reply, starting the next man’s drink. If a certain president found out that his order was the same as his archnemesis, you’re not sure how he’d react. 

You shake the ingredients of the Old Fashioned (though with a different brand of bourbon) and pour the mixture into the glass, while the redhead talks about his day.

“...our boss really is just something else. Really earning the title of “Demon Boss”, even with how old he is. I swear, our training in the dojo is enough to break off our arms! What do you think, Mr. Olive?”

“I believe it is necessary for our line of work. It will not break off your arms.”

“Bartender-san, you see how this man is? He really is something else, this Mr. Olive. Doesn’t even bat an eye when we have to do 100 practice swings whenever we mess up something. Though, now that we have a couple of new and faster weapons, that might be something of the past now.”

“Hmm, is that so? That’s a shame, I’m quite interested in swordfighting,” you reply, sliding the Old-Fashioned to the silent man. He gives a curt nod in response.

“Woah, is this… Bartender-san revealing some of their mysterious and hidden backstory to us right now?” Mr. Redhead tilts his head, raising the glass to his lips.

“Is it now? I think I’ve expressed interest in the topic in the past though.”

“Have you now? But Bartender-san, you never share anything about yourself. In fact,” he puts his finger onto his chin, “I don’t even think I know your name!”

“The rules of the bar do not permit that,” Mr. Olive cuts in.

“Oh, that’s true… but it’s like Bartender-san doesn’t even exist outside of this bar,” Mr. Redhead continues, his small red eyes boring holes in your skull. “Bartender-san… just what exactly are you?”

“I am a 1000-year-old demon cursed in this body to forever take care of Bar Eden,” you reply, smiling. 

“Eh? Is that really true?”

“That’s up for you to decide, Mr. Redhead," you wiggle your eyebrows.

“Demons are of no problem to deal with.”

“That’s because you don’t even need to worry about supernatural stuff,” Mr. Redhead argues. “I swear, his sword can just cut through anything!” he smirks, patting the man on his back. “Did you know, our dojo was haunted by some spirits the other day? But Mr. Olive just smashed right through them with his immensely monstrous strength!”

“It was of no matter.”

“Hmm, is that so? I’ll have to stay my distance then,” you chuckle. “Mr. Redhead, would you like anything else?”

“The key to your heart-”

“Denied.”

“Aw, come on! I thought that would work,” he whines.

“You’re not the first person who’s pulled that one.”

“There are other people with eyes on the cute Bartender-san?” His eyes narrow conspiratorially. “I will find out who they are in an instant!”

“Anybody who comes into this bar will most likely be looking at Bartender-san, like how we are right now.”

“Mr. Olive, that’s not exactly what I meant…”

Some time later, the two of them head on back to their family, the redhead with a bit of a stumble in his walk, and the other as straight backed as ever.

* * *

“Good night, Bartender-chan,” the owner calls out as you head up the steps of the bar.

“See you again tomorrow, Owner-san,” you respond, putting on your jacket. You swing open the large, heavy door and step out into the night, breathing in the cool air. 

Walking down the dark alleyway, you make a couple turns to get to the main street, but before you arrive there-

“I believe it is quite rude to be following somebody after their shift is over,” you call out, not turning behind you. “I know you were trying to get the key to my heart, but I must say, this isn’t exactly the correct way of doing it.”

You hear a rustling noise behind you. “Bartender-san! How did you know I was here?”

“I have my ways. Now, are you going to leave me in peace, Mr. Redhead? It would be utterly useless to try and gain any information about me.”

A cold gust of wind passes through.

“Alright, I’ll stop following you now, dear Bartender-san. My apologies for acting in such a rude manner.” The lanky man steps out from his hiding place, and tips his hat at you. “Have a nice night.”

You watch his red hair disappear into the night, and walk the opposite direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *minamoto-no-yoshitsune is the full name of ushiwaka
> 
> thank you everybody for the comments! since the previous chapters have been on the shorter end, here's something slightly longer to make up for it.
> 
> if you're worried about this being dropped in the future, don't worry because I have at least 30ish chapters planned and an ending already written out, so won't be dropping this anytime soon!
> 
> I hope you all are reading the summaries, because they'll be important for later... hohoho. as always, thanks for reading.


	9. outside view

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no summary this time around! hopefully this chapter's able to explain the backgrounds of everybody a bit better.

While most of Bar Eden’s patrons had some sort of connection to the underworld, there are a couple who were just normal people or ex-mafia members that stopped in time to time for a couple of beers and a nostalgia trip. Most were shocked to see a bartender younger than them, but you developed a nice bartender-patron relationship with them as time went on. 

“And then, wouldja believe it? My dear little brother just up and shaved his head right there! For a good reason and all, but if he wasn’t already bein’ called a punk, even more people did!” A boisterous laugh erupts from a blonde woman’s mouth as she slams the beer mug down on the counter, causing the patrons next to her to jump a bit.

“That’s certainly an interesting story, Ms. Taiko,” you reply. “I can see that his former kyodai were pretty influential on him, even to this day.”

“Right, right! My lil bro is really the best on the block! I’m always so proud of that guy!” She grins.

“I’m quite impressed with my disciple’s growth,” the man next to her says, pushing up his glasses. “We have our own sense of pride in our work, in the cover of the night. I just hope one day for him to not be so afraid.”

“Man, all of you guys have some younger ones that look up to you, meanwhile I’m out here just running my store,” a blond-haired man sighs. “Was never really that impressive back in the old days, tried to be as lazy as I could, so I don’t really have a special skill like Mr. Marketman or Ms. Taiko over here either, so I guess I can’t complain much.”

“Don’t be so down now, Mr. Electronics! Your store is still important to the organization, isn’t it? That’s good enough!” Mr. Marketman pats the back of the blond one. “Both of us have to pull through with our work!” He takes a gulp from his beer. 

“Mr. Marketman is right, Mr. Electronics. It’s fine if you don’t have a disciple. I believe you have your own merits regardless,” you add.

“Thank you, Bartender-san! Speaking of which, how’s Pony-chan doing with the menu?”

“She’s got a good couple of items on there now, so I hope you all will look forward to it.”

A little later, the door swings open again. “Oh, you guys are here too?” Another blond man walks through, wearing a dark red button down and black pants. 

“Oh, welcome, Mr. Piercings,” you say with a slight bow. “What can I get you tonight?”

“A beer is fine,” he says, taking a seat next to Mr. Marketman. 

“How’s everything coming along, new oyabun?” Mr. Marketman grins, slamming the other man’s back. You slide him a beer, and he takes it graciously. 

“Well, it’s a lot of pressure, but things are going alright for now. They’ve all got a lot of determination to be one of the top dogs again.”

“I think it’ll happen this year! You guys didn’t do too bad against that hotel company, right?”

“Eh? You guys were fightin’ with a hotel company? How does that even work?”

“Ah, they have a hotel as their coverup, but they’re yakuza just like us. They’re pretty known for being calm and collected under any situation. And their boss is a young one too, probably around the ages of the senior kyodai in our group.”

“You’re kidding! That’s amazing!” Ms. Taiko gasps.

“Mhm. Seems as though this year will be tough competition, but we’ve all got your backs, no worries.”

“Glad to hear it! The past couple years have been a bit rough with our territory being taken, honestly. Felt like there wouldn’t be an end to it, everybody was looking pretty down in the streets.”

“Right, right? It’s always the outsiders talkin’ about liberating us, but the organization’s done nothing but been protective, so I don’t really mind paying a bit of money to them,” Mr. Marketman nods. “Besides, anything to support my old group!”

“Wow, I’m really glad to hear it… It’s been hard with our reputation not that high right now.”

“But I’m sure you’ll be able to turn things around now. We’re counting on you, new oyabun!”

“You guys…” he sighs, shaking his head. “It’s gonna be some big shoes to fill for sure.”

“How’s that old geezer doing now?” Mr. Electronics asks.

“He’s recovering pretty well, so they’re thinking of releasing him soon. But he had a lot of connections with the groups out here, which I’m trying to get back now.”

“Edo is a pretty big city, isn’t it? Not to mention all of the other prefectures in the country probably have their own solidified groups too.”

“Mhm. Edo itself already has a bunch of powerhouses, and then there’s those down south, though it’s rare that we’d have to come into contact with them. We’re just mostly worried about the groups in our area for now. That, and of course the eagles,” Mr. Piercing adds, after a sip from his beer.

“They’re one of the oldest families around, aren’t they?” the blonde woman asks. “Ry- er, Buddha was sayin’ something the other day about that one really insane guy they have in their group.”

“Their oyabun is a dojo master, so it’s no surprise all of them are strong. My old man used to say how that man finds strength in raw power, so all of their members are strong, physically. Their strongest guy is left-handed too, which is pretty hard to guard against.”

“Wow, sounds like they’ve got quite the man in theirs,” Mr. Marketman says in awe.

“Not to worry, Mr. Marketman! Our group members are strong too! My lil bro’s been busy practicing daily, and the new ones aren’t to be laughed at either!” Ms. Taiko boasts, slamming her fist down on the counter again. “Bartender-san, another beer please!”

“You got it, Ms. Taiko,” you reply, filling her mug up from the barrel behind you. 

“Say Bartender-san, what’s your opinion on the whole power structure in Japan?” Mr. Electronics asks.

“Mine? Hmm, I’m not exactly in the best position to answer that, considering this bar is an independent organization.” You slide over the mug of beer to Ms. Taiko. “Here you go.”

“Oh, thanks!” She replies. 

“But don’t you have a lot of customers who are affiliated with groups? Being in this location is pretty convenient,” Mr. Electronics presses forward.

“The bar serves as a rest spot for people off the job. To me, everybody’s the same in that regard when they enter that door, no matter what they work in. So I’m not really affected by anything like power dynamics,” you answer. 

“Hmm, I see. Oh! Did I ever tell you guys about the new stereo player I got imported…”

* * *

The night passes on in a lively manner, until they’re all red-faced and slouched across the counter.

“Owner-san, give me a hand here please,” you grumble, patting the backs of Mr. Electronics and Mr. Marketman. “You guys doing alright?”

They mutter a incoherent string of words.

“And they’re all the way up north, aren’t they…” you mutter, shaking your head.

“Bartender-san, do you need any help?” Akane looks at you, wide-eyed, as you start hauling up the most inebriated ones.

“Well, I’ll just let the owner take care of the rest once I get them outta here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for the support! hope you enjoyed this one despite not having any of the main cast!


	10. the lilies in the shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flowers wilted in their presence; the moon turned its face away in shame upon looking at them. But they are not to be just for viewing; one had the power to connect stars with her brush, the other had the strength to run as fast as the wind, forever, eternal.
> 
> Lured in by their gaze, men eventually fall to their ruin and desolation, with nothing left to their name.

“Karasuno has got them a new one again,” the owner says, handing you a sheet of paper.

“Really? At this time? Let’s see here… oh? This is a surprise. Isn’t her mother a well-known painter, if I’m not mistaken?” You reply, skimming through.

“Eh? ‘Her’?” Akane peeks over your shoulder, and you hold up the file for her to look at. “Wow, she looks younger than me!”

“Well, she is a year younger than you, silly,” you remark, affectionately rubbing your barback’s head. “I wonder why she joined?”

“You are correct in your assumption, Bartender-chan. Madoka Yachi is a well-known ukiyo-e artist. I have purchased a couple of her works before.”

“Hmm… then, I think her nickname would be easy...”

* * *

Women in the underworld, while rare, are not entirely unheard of. They didn’t fight on the frontlines, but handled behind-the-scenes matters like none other. Their fighting prowess is not to be scorned upon either; basic self-defense is a necessity in such a risky world. Most of the women that joined therefore had strong or firm personalities, but there were sometimes exceptions.

“Nee-s-san, a-are you s-sure I can enter… a b-bar?” A timid, high-pitched voice stutters as the black door pushes open.

“Don’t worry about it, I can assure you the bartender here is very welcoming,” a soft but mature voice replies. A woman with shoulder-length black hair wearing a patterned _kosode_ and black _hakama_ enters the bar, followed by a shorter blond woman with a little ponytail on the left side clinging onto the older one’s sleeve. 

“Good evening, Ms. Raven. I see you’ve brought a new person with you. Welcome to Bar Eden, and what can I get you two ladies to drink tonight?” you greet them warmly.

The first step to get the more timid people out of their shell at the bar is to make them feel welcomed and not to single them out too much.

“Good evening, Bartender-san. I’ll take a glass of Merlot,” the older woman says, sitting down at a stool. The younger one follows behind like a scared rabbit, twitching in her seat.

Akane hands you the bottle and you pour out a glass. “And what would the new one want?” You ask, sliding the drink over. 

“Um… I’ve never had a drink… b-before…” she stammers. 

“Don’t worry about it, I can pick one for you. Actually, Pony-chan! Why don’t you try thinking up a drink for her?”

“Understood, Bartender-san! Hmm…” she closes her eyes in thought.

“B-bartender-san, was it? I heard you had to p-pick out a nickname for everybody too, right?”

“Oh, here’s somebody who did her research beforehand, didn’t she?” You grin. The second step is to acknowledge their presence in a good manner. ”Then… You’ll be known as Blondie-chan here,” you declare.

(It seemed the number of blondes that entered the bar has been steadily increasing.)

“Then Blondie-chan should get a Mojito! I think it has a refreshing taste and is great for a first time customer!” Akane exclaims. 

“Oh, nice one, Pony-chan! Let’s get started!”

Well, you said it was nice, but muddling mint does get annoying. From the stock, you take out mint leaves, a shaker, and a muddler. You gently mash the mint leaves in the shaker and tiny droplets of juice flow out.

“So how was everybody’s day today?” You ask, taking out a highball glass after the muddling.

“Nothing in particular interesting happened to me,” the dark-haired woman replies. “Though, excluding our new member joining today,” she turns to the woman next to her and smiles.

“I-I’m really honored to be a part of the organization! I just hope I can live up to my role!” Blondie-chan says with a determined look in her eyes.

“We here at Bar Eden will be cheering you on, Blondie-chan,” you say gently. “We can’t give you much practical help here, but we can offer an ear to listen to your troubles, if you have any.” You pour in rum, ice, lime juice, and syrup into the shaker.

“And I can assure you Bartender-san here gives good advice!” Akane beams. 

“I can attest to that as well,” Ms. Raven adds while taking a sip from her wine.

“I’m honored,” you bow while shaking the shaker. “Well, you heard it from them as well. Drink and talk away your troubles here, if you wish.”

The girl puts a hand to her chin as she thinks. “Then, Bartender-san, what if… um, er, I guess… how do you think a painter could be of use to yakuza?” She asks, eyes widening. “Ah!” Her hands fly to her mouth. “Oh my! I can’t believe I revealed the industry! Am I going to die now?”

You let out a hearty chuckle. “Blondie-chan, I’m quite aware of the backgrounds my patrons work in. You’ve technically not broken any rules, so don’t worry about it.” You strain the contents of the shaker into the highball, add a lime wedge and mint sprig as garnish, and slide it over to her. “Here, your Mojito.”

Blondie-chan takes the glass and cautiously takes a sip. “Oh! I didn’t know alcohol could taste this invigorating!” 

The final step is to make them a drink that fits their taste, especially if they’ve never had alcohol before, as most shy away at the pungent taste.

“Cocktails are created to add more flavor to the alcohol and to mask its strong taste. In that glass, you’re tasting mostly mint in there, which is why it’s so fresh,” you respond. “As to answer your question, first I must ask, why did you join such a group?”

“Um… I don’t really have that much of a reason, to be honest. I wanted to try something… different, I guess.” She looks down, squirming a bit in her seat, a tinge of red spreading on her cheeks.

“You wanted a change of pace from your old life?”

She nods her head. “Something like that.”

“A painter transitioning into the life of vigilantism is quite the change though,” you muse. “As to being helpful… let’s see here, your organization doesn’t exactly have the best reputation right now, doesn’t it? Maybe you could do something to help that with your art?”

While Karasuno is technically considered yakuza, they never did any of the hard illegal activities - the group was more of vigilantes that protected the streets, which is why businesses are much amicable to paying them. With their recent decline however, most people viewed them as unnecessary and useless.

“Oh! Good idea! Wait, but how do you know about the organization…”

You give her a wink. “Insider secrets. Helps if you’ve been at this job for a while.”

“Wow, bartending seems like a really cool job!” Her eyes sparkle. “Ah! Wait, I didn’t mean to ignore all of the hardships that must come with the work!”

“Blondie-chan, relax, relax, you’re all good. It is a pretty rewarding job, and it’s definitely interesting learning new ways to make drinks.”

“My apologies! I will do my best to relax!” She takes another (a bit large) sip from her minty drink, and chokes a bit, coughing into her arm. The woman next to her pats her back.

“Do you need a tissue?” She asks gently.

Blondie-chan shakes her head vigorously. “I’m all good! Just drank a little more than expected!”

“Be careful there! I know my drinks are amazing, so take your time with them,” you chuckle. “But Ms. Raven, I’m surprised you were able to find somebody to take over your position already.”

“I was as well, so I consider myself quite lucky to have found Blondie-chan,” she replies, smiling.

“How were you able to recruit such a lovely young woman like her?” 

The younger one blushes even more. “It was at a tea shop,” Ms. Raven explains. “You just have to find the right one to frequent, and Blondie-chan was sitting all alone when I found her.”

“I was shocked when Ms. Raven approached me! She’s, um, a really pretty woman, and I didn’t expect her to be a part of the yakuza. But with some of the men surrounding her, I could kind of see it,” Blondie-chan adds on. “Actually, there were two guys in the group who seemed really invested in Ms. Raven… they were really scary...”

“With how beautiful Ms. Raven is, I’m not surprised at that.” 

“Oh!” Akane interjects. “Speaking of which, my brother, Mohawk-san, also seems to have taken an interest in somebody he calls a ‘goddess’ that came from another organization. Would that be… Ms. Raven over here?”

“I have no recollection of meeting a Mohawk-san, so I’m not entirely sure.”

“Ms. Raven is as cold as always. I’ve heard a certain Piece of Shit talk about how you’ve ignored him all the time because of how shy you are.”

“Is that so? I find it only natural to ignore pieces of shit.”

 _Mohawk...san? Piece of… Shit? Who are these people? Are they even people?_ The blonde woman looks back-and-forth between you and Ms. Raven in confusion.

“But Blondie-chan’s in good hands with you, Ms. Raven. She’s one of the most dependable people I know of, and not just because of her role in the organization.” 

“I’m going to do my best!” Blondie-chan declares, finishing the last of her Mojito. 

“That’s the spirit.”

* * *

“By the way, how did Shimizu-san get the nickname of Ms. Raven?” Akane asks, once the last of the patrons have left the bar.

“You’re wondering because Karasuno is ‘crow’, right? But if I called her that, it would be a giveaway as to where she’s from, wouldn’t it?”

“But aren’t ravens and crows pretty similar?”

You go silent for a bit while wiping a glass.

“Don’t worry about the details too much!”

“It’s because Bartender-chan mixed up the crows and ravens is why she’s Ms. Raven,” a smooth voice from the back calls out.

“Oi, Owner-san! Don’t call me out like that!”

"But was it really OK to name her Blondie-chan? I for sure thought you were going to call her Painter-chan," the owner continues.

"Well, that was the original plan, but I didn't expect her to know about the nickname system... most of the newcomers come in without knowledge of it... I guess Shimizu's already been teaching her well!" You put away the glass, vigorously nodding your head.

"Even Bartender-san can get surprised sometimes?" Akane gasps.

"Well, I'm human after all, isn't that only natural?"

_To a certain extent, though._


	11. iron resolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The iron walls stand firm, letting nothing, not even a single bug pass through. Their bodies are metal, mercury flowing through their veins, breaths of icy air coming from their lips. Unmovable giants that cannot be broken. Pound on their doors as much as you’d like, they will never fall nor crack. Calm and steady eyes that see through everything. The ultimate defense.

“It’s a rough life out here, Bartender-san. I’m just doin’ the best I can with my furniture shop. With the bakufu now in decline, I’m sure all the taxes on the clan’s been pretty rough now, too,” a sandy-brown haired man sighs while holding his beer.

“And now it’s just the two of us able to go to this bar, other one’s busy being a husband. He’s got two kids already, can you believe it?” A black-haired man adds on, slumping over the counter. The telltale red blush is present on his face. “Then again, we don’t really have other places to go…”

“Pass him my congratulations, if you ever see him again. I’m sure the two of you will do well in the future though - you were able to handle the members of your clan well, weren’t you?” You respond.

“Yeah, as their vassals maybe. Tch, thinking of a certain guy’s face just pisses me off.”

“Bartender-san! Good evening - geh, why are the two of you here?” The door swings open to reveal the ‘certain guy’, a tall man with side-swept brown hair followed by an even taller one with white hair, both wearing their training clothes, appear on the top of the steps.

“Don’t ‘geh’ me, you bastard! Ah, let’s just go now, Mr. Welder. We’ve got stuff to work on anyways.” The older man slaps down some coins on the counter. “Thanks for the drinks, Bartender-san! I’ll catch you later!” The curly-haired man, Mr. Welder, follows, waving a goodbye at you. 

At the top of the steps, the sandy-brown haired man and his junior have a stare-down so intense you swore you saw a bolt of lightning flash by until the white-haired man pushes the two off. The heavy door slams with a loud thud.

“Good evening, the two of you. What would you like for tonight?” You say to the two men walking down the stairs.

“I’ll take a Black Velvet today, pousse-cafe style! This guy will have his regular,” the brown-haired man says with a smirk.

Pousse-cafe style is where the drinks are poured in such a way that layers the liquids. This is done by pouring the heaviest-density ingredient on the bottom, in the Black Velvet’s case, champagne, and then going lighter in density.

Even for experienced bartenders, making the drink is quite hard - one slip and the liquids can mix, breaking the layer formations.

“Right on, Mr. Bastard,” you reply, smiling a bit too wide.

“Wait, Bartender-san? Why are you calling me a bastard too? What happened to my other nickname?”

“It’s your new nickname! I believe it is quite fitting for you, as I have already forgotten your old one.”

Said bastard groans as he takes a seat and the white-haired man next to him pats his back, though with a bit too much strength that almost sends him flying.

“It was Side-Swept…”

“By the way, our dear Pony-chan’s snack menu has now expanded to having candied chestnuts, edamame, and agedashi tofu. If you have any interest, please let me know,” you continue, ignoring the man and pulling out a champagne flute. 

The owner had advised going easy for the first couple of items but still keeping a variety of different tastes. Of course, these were absolutely none of what the patrons suggested, but most were standard foods served at traditional Japanese bars. When the owner went to Nagasaki again, he promised to bring back some European delicacies to bring in some more money.

Mr. White’s eyes light up with an interested sparkle, the most excited you’ve ever seen him.

“Oya, I think Mr. White would like some of those candied chestnuts,” Mr. Bastard says. “I’ll pass though.”

“Understood. Pony-chan! An order of candied chestnuts!” you call out. A “Got it!” is heard from the kitchen. 

You pour out the champagne until it reaches the halfway point on the flute. Next, with extreme patience and care, you float the beer on top, using a flipped over spoon so that the beer doesn’t mix with the champagne. The two men watch intensely as the dark liquid slowly fills up the rest of the glass.

“And here you go. Black Velvet, pousse-cafe style,” you say, carefully sliding the drink. Getting out a bottle of shochu, you fill another glass with a bit of ice, and then the drink, and slide it over to Mr. White. “Shochu, on the rocks.” He curtly nods his thanks.

“Woah, this looks pretty cool!” The brown-haired man muses. “Not bad taste, either.”

“Mr. Bastard, how did you know about the pousse-cafe style?” You ask.

“Oh, I heard somebody talk about it the other day on the street. I have absolutely no idea what language it is, but it sounds pretty cool and hard to do, so I ordered it for tonight!” He replies. 

_Betting 100 that it was the Piece of Shit who said it._

“It’s French, it means ‘coffee-pusher’. And nothing is too hard for me in the world of mixing.”

“But you’re calling me Mr. Bastard right now.”

“That’s because you are one.”

“Bartender-san, I never knew you to be this petty.”

“It’s not pettiness, it’s the truth.”

“One order of candied chestnuts coming out!” Akane says, pushing open the kitchen door with a plate of the snack in her hand. Mr. White’s eyes sparkled again, intensely following the girl’s movements. Akane gulps at the man’s imposing stature, but sets down the plate with confidence. “Here you go! Enjoy!” She returns back to the kitchen, a bit hurriedly.

“Oh, these look good! Let me have one-” Mr. Bastard reaches for a chestnut, but his hand is immediately swatted away by Mr. White. “Ah, no go? Oh well.” He takes a sip of his drink while eyeing the man next to him nibbling on a chestnut.

A couple seconds of silence pass, save for the sound of the crunching chestnut.

Then, finally-

“Give my regards to the chef. This is good,” a deep voice says.

“Woah, he spoke! It must really be good then!”

“I’m glad to hear that, Mr. White. I will certainly let Pony-chan know. We had spent a lot of time peeling those chestnuts.”

(You even managed to drag the capricious owner into helping with the peeling too.)

“Pony-chan’s younger than you, isn’t she? What’s it like teaching her?” Mr. Bastard asks.

“Oh, she’s quite the reliable barback. Does her duty quite well, and her food is, as you can see, doing quite popular too. No complaints here.”

“That so? Must be nice… one of our new members is one helluva guy to keep in line,” the man sighs. “I appreciate his energy and all, but it feels like no matter what I tell him, he never listens! He does so in a way where you think he’s got it when he responds to you, but he never actually follows through!”

“Sounds like quite the troublesome one.”

“Right? The old ones were talking about how he could be a great weapon for us once he gets his swordsmanship down, but that’s when he gets it down! Now I don’t even know what to do…” he groans. “Bartender-san, got any advice?”

“Mm… I think those kinds of things take time to develop. I know you all must be in a hurry to get things going, but you need a proper base before you can start getting creative. Like your pousse-cafe cocktail.” You tap the glass on the counter. “If I didn’t put champagne on the bottom, that drink wouldn’t have been possible. Only with a solid foundation can things start to work together well.”

“Wow, I wasn’t actually expecting advice from you.”

“What is that supposed to mean? I’m just doing my job here.”

Elbows on the counter, Mr. Bastard props up his chin with his hands. “Thanks though, I appreciate it. Our clan hasn’t been doing so hot recently, so our daimyo’s trying to change things up. Though, with the current state of things-” his eyes narrow “-it’s gonna be hard to get back to our old form.”

“We will do what we always do,” Mr. White declares, finishing the last of his chestnuts.

“Geh, give us a signal or something if you’re gonna talk!” Mr. Bastard jumps a bit in his seat. “But you’re right as always, Mr. White. We’ll take back what’s ours in the end,” he says, grinning.

“I wish you good luck,” you reply, smiling. “You all are being counted on by the younger ones, after all.”

“Hah, you’re right there!” He downs the rest of his drink and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Our enemies won’t be able to see what’s coming for them.”

“I would like seconds of these chestnuts.”

“Oh, third time tonight? New record!”

“Understood, Mr. White. Pony-chan! Another order of the chestnuts!”

Mr. Bastard leans forward with a smirk. “So, can I have another pousse-cafe-”

“Oh, Mr. Bastard, would you like some water? I don’t want you to go out in the night too inebriated to walk,” you cut in, smiling the same overly-wide smile as before.

“Eh? I’m not even that out of it yet…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was listening to some inspirational music while writing this and I think it subconsciously affected the ending of this one... anyways, as usual, hope you enjoyed! can't believe we've hit past 1000 hits already! thank you all for the support!


	12. employer woes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strategize. Adapt. Overcome. With calm breaths and calculated steps, they will always be two paces ahead. Their titanium bonds cannot be broken by even the heaviest of swords. They wear the mask of the gentle sea to their clients, bringing the force of a crashing wave to their blade.

The Aoba Company, thanks to their president, had their roots spread out far and wide in many industries. They started out as a humble ryokan in Miyagi, and then expanded to dealing with the luxury scene of Japan, playing a hand in facilitating trade of finely-crafted goods to Niigata, where they’d be shipped out to foreign countries. Of course, on the side they run a dojo and deal with smuggling illegal goods through the backstreets and underground scene. This, they were able to cover up with their public profile quite well, mainly thanks to their charismatic leader and hard-working employers.

Those employers harbor a deep sense of respect for their boss, and aim to live up to his trust and expectations for them. Of course, this was shown on different levels - his vice president, for one, acted like he absolutely detested the man, and the senior employers joked around with him. Meanwhile, the younger ones are quite respectful towards their president and admire his work ethic.

Though of course, sometimes they had their questions.

“I really do respect my boss. He even tells me to never hold back when giving the monthly feedback reports, and I think my job is perfect for me. But at the same time…”

“He’s annoying?” You offer. “A piece of shit?”

“Bartender-san, I was going to say incomprehensible, but you’re sounding a bit like Mr. Musclehead-san right there... Did he do something wrong to you?” the man with a hairstyle like a turnip gasps, his eyes widening.

“Well… as his name implies, that’s all he really is at this bar. Seriously annoying,” you reply with the usual smile.

“B-Bartender-san… er, you look a bit scary right now…”

“Is that so? My apologies. How is everyone’s drinks?”

“Oh! I never knew you could make corn into a drink! I’m impressed!” Turnip says. His drink is a cocktail you whipped up on the spot based off of a famous Brazilian drink, the Caiprinha, using corn syrup, Cachaça, a spirit distilled from sugarcane juice rather than molasses like rum, some spoonfuls of sugar, and ice.

“Mine’s good as well,” A black-haired man says. This is Middle Part (also given due to his hairstyle), the quietest one in the company. He’s holding a Salted Caramel Martini, a mixture of Irish Cream, vanilla vodka, caramel syrup, with a rim of caramel syrup and salt.

“Oh, that’s rare for Middle Part to give out a compliment!” Turnip chimes in.

“I’ve never said Bartender-san’s drinks were bad.”

“Ah, I guess so…”

“That aside, how was everybody’s day today?”

“Bartender-san… do you believe in spirits?” Turnip asks you with a deadly serious look on his face.

_What is up with everybody and the supernatural recently?_

“I believe we each have our proper duty to appease to the otherworldly creatures in this world,” you say, not exactly wanting to give your true view on them.

“I see… Middle Part and I think our dojo might be haunted…” he continues with his serious look.

“I don’t really care about it,” Middle Part interjects nonchalantly.

“But you were the one who put the idea in my head! Bartender-san, I could swear the two of us felt some weird, spooky chill from a vengeful spirit in our dojo. It was a really strong and scary influence…”

“Are you sure it just wasn’t the mob of women that follow your piece of shit boss around all the time?”

“Well, in the end, we did find them, but to me… just something felt a bit off… His fanclub is usually a lot less angry and just more… intense.”

Middle Part sighs. “You’re just overthinking this too much.”

“Am not!... I think…”

“Maybe you have somebody out there with a vengeance towards you?” You suggest.

_Like a certain man with a nickname based off his hairstyle too._

“We were thinking about that since Middle Part and I had a pretty tough time with this one guy we worked with before we got hired by our current company… he was really hard to deal with, always ordering around people to keep up with him, but his expectations are almost impossible! Not all of us are genius fighters like he is. Right, Middle Part?”

“Please leave me out of this. But, I guess that’s true.”

“It might’ve been him with some dark magic he learned… ah, that would be kind of scary…” he shivers. “But, I believe in our boss. He’s much more accommodating, experienced, and hard working. I think everybody in our company has a lot of trust in him.” A small smile appears on his features.

“Wow, I can practically feel it from over here the amount of dedication you have. Middle Part, what about you? What do you think of him?”

“Well… I also respect our boss, I don’t have much to say about him.”

“That’s because you skip practice a lot!” Turnip retorts.

“It’s called conserving energy.”

“And when do you use that energy?”

“When I feel like it.”

“You little-”

“Now now, Turnip. I’m sure Middle Part is pretty good at pulling his weight too,” you interject.

“He is, which is why it kind of ticks me off. Did you know he can go into this weird, half-dead mode where he stops his heart? It’s probably why he’s so good at his job.”

Middle Part worked as an assassin at night for the company to get rid of any potential threats, as stated on his file. 

“It’s just something natural for me.”

“Exactly what part of that is natural? When is suspended animation normal? That’s an important life function right there! I definitely can’t do that! Bartender-san, can you?”

“I’m not entirely sure if I want to try…”

“See? It’s not natural at all!”

“There’s no need to get so worked up over it. It’s why you do all of the service-related jobs because they’re a lot more work to do.”

“Ah, is that the only reason why? I thought my skills were actually pretty good there… so that’s how it is…” He slumps down onto the counter, drink now forgotten.

“I’m sure your boss chose you because you did have good skills, Turnip! You’re quite sociable and kind, so it makes sense!”

“Bartender-san…” He looks up at you with wide eyes, sniffing. “Do you r-really believe that?”

“Of course! Now would you like another drink?”

“Yes please!”

* * *

“By the way, if that guy’s an assassin, couldn’t he just have taken out his enemy by now?” Akane asks at the end of the shift. “Wouldn’t his boss want to get him out of the way too?”

“I have a feeling that the assassin's too lazy to bother with that, and the Piece of Shit wants to fight Kageyama head on.”

“Oh. Isn’t that a pretty chivalrous move of him?”

“Well, I know I call him a Piece of Shit, but he’s not that bad outside the bar. Oh, but he’s always surrounded by women out in public. It makes it hard to get to places.”

“Bartender-san, you actually go outside?”

“Akane-chan, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I don’t exactly know what your life is like outside the bar… actually, the owner’s as well,” she replies, putting away the broom. 

“I do normal things, OK? I’m a proper adult and all, but Owner-san… please don’t ask me about that.” 

You’re honestly not entirely sure what he does either. 

“Wait, then can I visit Bartender-san’s home some time? I want to see what it’s like inside! You earn a lot of money from this job, don’t you? I bet there’s all sorts of fancy things in there!” Her warm brown eyes sparkle.

“It’s really plain, Akane-chan. Nothing of interest is there.”

“Akane-chan, if you want to come over to my house, I welcome you with open arms,” the owner calls out.

“No way in hell I’m going to yours!”

"Good answer, Akane-chan."

"No more swords for the two of you then!"

"Eh? Isn't that blackmail? Owner-san, you're really petty..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: a certain somebody may fly in... be prepared for some wild times...


	13. the call of the owls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loud, bold, brash—he holds two burning suns in his eyes. A big heart and an even bigger soul, he lives and dies by his blade. When he strikes, the whole world’s watching his every move. A giant star that shines the brightest, a flame that burns the hottest. Forging a path ahead with his own two hands, he is unstoppable.
> 
> \--
> 
> Quiet, calculated, logical—he holds the depths of the ocean in his eyes. Flowing like a coursing river, there is no unnecessary movement in his every step. When you try to counter him, he will have already thought of ten ways to defeat you, all in a single breath. For what he does, he will do to his best.

As you smooth down your clothes in the final seconds before the bar opens for the night, a sudden shock of electricity runs down your spine.

“Akane-chan… tonight, a strange presence will grace the bar,” you say to the barback standing next to you. 

“What do you mean by that?”

“In the way that somebody who still hasn’t paid off his tab will come. And I will make him pay tonight,” you reply with an air of determination.

She notices an unusual glint in your eye.

“Bartender-san, you’re pretty money-hungry, aren’t you?” Akane replies, an eyebrow raised.

“Hey, I’m not as bad compared to the owner! We’re running a business here, it would be bad if the customers don’t pay! Especially that one, it’s been three months now!”

The man you were currently discussing had a tendency to pay in irregular periods of time - one time, it had been five whole months before he settled the tab, and the owner was quite nearly about to explode because of it.

“Three months is a pretty long time, I guess.” She sighs and fluffs out her curls. “Owner-san gave me a couple of recipes to try out, so I’m going to head back to the kitchen.”

“I am truly grateful for your work, Akane-chan.”

“Of course! Anything for Bar Eden!” She rolls up her sleeves, a determined look on her face. “Alright! Let’s do our best tonight!”

“Let’s do so indeed,” you warmly smile to the girl, who saunters off to the wooden door of the kitchen.

_Now, if my intuition is correct..._

“Bartender-san, hey hey hey! Tonight’s the night you’ll finally accept my date proposal!” A loud voice booms out. Swinging open the door is none other than Mr. Owl, a man with white-and-black streaked hair, wearing a gray-on-black ensemble. Behind him is Gunmetal, a man with feminine features, wearing the same thing. 

“And tonight I will refuse as always, Mr. Owl,” you bow. “The regular, I presume?”

“As always, so quick on the rejection,” the man groans, placing his two hands over his heart.

“You don’t have many redeeming qualities, Mr. Owl-san. And that would be appreciated,” the other man says, brushing past his partner and walking straight to the stool.

“Gunmetal! Back me up sometimes!” Mr. Owl sighs, jogging over.

“But Mr. Owl-san does have some pretty special qualities.” A craft beer is in your left hand, and a Sauvignon in your right. “Like how he never goes more than six months without paying his tab.”

“I know right! Aren’t I amazing!” The man croons, his hair rising.

“I’m pretty sure that wasn’t a compliment.”

“Eh? It wasn’t…” His hair starts to deflate. “Ah. I see. That kind of situation, huh.”

“Here’s your beer and Sauvignon!” You push the two glasses in front of you. “All joking aside, Mr. Owl, I believe you are a kind and very dedicated person.”

His hair pops right back up. “I knew you could recognize my charms!”

“But they still won’t accept your courting proposal,” the man next to him says casually as he takes a sip from his wine.

“No, it’s fine. I got acknowledged tonight, and that is more than enough for me!” He declares, raising his glass. “A toast tonight, to the wonderful Bartender-san! And Bar Eden!”

“I’d appreciate more if you paid off your tab first.”

The classic good cop/bad cop routine, which somewhat mirrors the two Fukurodani members’ actual jobs - they were the officially recognized police force of Edo, though their ways were _rambunctious_ and _unconventional_ , to put it nicely. The owner had commented on how they were more of a ragtag bunch of groups rather than a cohesive unit, which was technically true, as they had absorbed Ubugawa, Shinzen, and had friendly relations with Nekoma (even if they had a brothel). Even Karasuno had made contact with them.

“Don’t worry about things like money too much, Bartender-san! You’ll get wrinkles on your forehead if you have too many worries when you’re young!” 

“That so? I’ll keep it in mind.”

While it might’ve been strange to let this man go for long periods of time without paying his tab, you allowed him to do so because he really is a good and honest guy deep down, just pretty forgetful. He had been one of the earliest patrons you knew, and you were quite shocked to learn he was the chief of the police force in Edo. 

“Say, isn’t the bar pretty empty tonight? What happened to the customers?” He asks, swivelling his head around to survey the empty space.

“Perhaps they were scared off by your grandeur and majestic attitude,” you offer. 

In truth, there was probably some sort of duel going on right now. Tensions had been continuously rising in the northern area, according to the owner, taut like an arrow about to be released.

“But shouldn’t people be drawn into me because of that…?” Mr. Owl narrows his eyes in thought. “Well, whatever! I get to spend some more time here with Bartender-san because of it~”

“I hope you remember to not drink too much, Mr. Owl-san,” Gunmetal cuts in. “The last time you went overboard, we were almost in danger of losing our positions because you were going wild in the streets.”

“I know my limits, Gunmetal! Don’t worry, it’ll just be a couple beers for tonight! We’re off-duty anyways, you gotta relax from time to time!” He takes a swig from his mug, and lets out a satisfied sigh. “That hits the spot! I don’t know what you guys do with your beers, but they’re the best! Owl Seal of Approval for ‘em!”

“I’m glad to hear that. By chance, may I interest you in any of the food we have on the menu?” You point to the scroll right next to the wooden sign with the rules. “We have a couple of new items, like fried chicken now.”

“Oh! That sounds good! But you guys don’t have some yakiniku yet?”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit too much for a bar?” The black-haired man next to him sighs.

“But still! Yakiniku is the best! Yakiniku is god!” He pumps his fist in the air. 

“Well, if you personally want to get us the cuts of meat, I’m sure Pony-chan wouldn’t be terribly opposed to making it,” you tap your finger on your chin.

“Bartender-san, please don’t give this man anymore ideas.”

“I’m always let down by you…” the owl-like man groans, taking another gulp of his beer. “D’you ever have anything good to say about me?” 

“No, not particularly.”

“You’re supposed to say ‘yes, I do!’ there!” He cries out.

“Now now, Mr. Owl. I’m sure all of your subordinates have strong faith in your capabilities. You are the fourth-generation headmaster of your sword school after all.”

 _Tennen Rishin Ryu,_ a pretty revolutionary school that utilized bamboo swords and armor for sparring, simulating a real swords match, rather than the rigid form practice using _bokuto_ or dull-edged swords.

The man nods his head vigorously. “Exactly that! But it sometimes feels like my comrades don’t actually listen to me… I feel like they might secretly hate me or something…”

“Yes, I do.”

“That’s not where you’re supposed to say it! Bartender-san, do you see what I mean?”

You let out a soft chuckle. “But in it’s own way, it’s a form of camaraderie, isn’t it?”

Despite Mr. Owl’s acclaim, he never did look at himself as superior to his underlings. If anything, he was pushed to further heights because of them. Their entrance to the Edo scene had been anything but quiet and they made themselves known.

“If you say it like that… I guess it makes sense! They trust in me so much, they can throw anything at me!” He lets out a loud laugh. “My mental fortitude is strong after all!”

 _No, it really isn’t_.

“By the way, Gunmetal, have you been reading anything interesting lately?” You pivot the conversation to the quieter one.

Gunmetal is the vice commander of the Fukurodani force, dealing mostly in strategy and tactics, and often he’d go to Bar Eden with a book in one hand and wine in the either (which was pretty unconventional, but you left him be.)

“I’ve picked up a collection of Otogi-zoshi recently,” he replies. “While different from what I usually gravitate towards, I find them very intriguing.”

“Those are illustrated short stories, aren’t they? Do you have a favorite?”

“Possibly Urashima Taro, but I enjoy Shutendoji as well.”

Your left hand involuntarily twitches.

“If I’m not mistaken, Urashima Taro is the one with Ryugujo, isn’t it? It would be quite the sight to see in real life, that palace.”

“Oh! Ryugujo! I know that one!” The other man who had kept silent the whole time, looking intensely back-and-forth between the two of you, was finding a chance to enter the conversation. “Did you guys know, one of the jinja-hime was apparently washed up on the beaches nearby here? But I wasn’t able to see it,” he pouts. “Although, I guess I wouldn’t really want to visit it in the first place, even if it does sound pretty fun.”

“Why is that?” You ask.

“Once you leave that palace, all the people you knew back home would be gone since time passes differently there, doesn’t it? I think that would be pretty sad,” he muses. “Where I’m living right now is the best!”

“I agree as well,” Gunmetal says.

“Wait, really?”

“I do enjoy my time working with everybody, even if some of them are annoying to deal with.”

The commander’s eyes go wide at this statement, and he bursts into tears. “Gunmetal! So you really do have a heart in there!” He buries his face into the other one’s chest, who’s taken by surprise.

“A heart is necessary for proper living functions, of course I have one,” Gunmetal replies, unsure of what to do with his hands. “Also, Mr. Owl-san. Is this really necessary?”

Mr. Owl pulls back, teary-eyed. “It’s rare to hear any sort of praise from you!”

“I don’t really think I was praising you in particular though.”

* * *

The owl did end up paying and left the bar singing of praises for his vice commander.

“The Otogi-zoshi _,_ hm?” The owner comments, popping up right behind you. Akane had already said her goodbyes and headed home.

“Maybe you should get a copy of that collection too. Just for fun, since you have enough money to spend,” you reply, taking off your gloves and flexing your hands.

“Maybe I will then, just for fun. It would be… quite an interesting read. What about yourself?”

“I’m not particularly interested in those kinds of things, despite what I said tonight.”

“Hmm? Is that so? Bartender-chan, are you perhaps scared? I know some of those stories can be-”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Good night.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The Ryugujo is the Dragon Palace owned by the Dragon God under the sea. The jinja-hime are the messengers of said palace.  
> *The Otogi-zoshi are a collection of narrative illustrated prose works written primarily during the Muromachi period (1392–1573).  
> *The Fukurodani Group is loosely based off of the Shinsengumi IRL.
> 
> Anyways, thanks for over 100 kudos! Glad to see so many people enjoying this story, even in it's really messy and ??? state! This chapter was pretty fun to write. We've got two more "introductory" chapters (sorry, added one more in there) before All Hell Breaks Loose. Stay safe and healthy <3


	14. kitsune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breathe in. A change of appearance. The swish of tails. A purifying glow. Breathe out. Such was how he worked, quickly, swiftly in the night. The Gion Shoja temple bells ring, echoing the impermanence of all things. Their lives expire in the darkness.
> 
> \--
> 
> Breathe in. Sword unsheathed. A majestic slash. Sword sheathed. Breathe out. Such was how he worked, broadly, gallantly, in the sun. The colors of the sala flower reveal that to flourish is to fall. Their lives rot in the daylight.
> 
> \--
> 
> Who needs memories, when everything is bound to fade away?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before we begin, a clarification:
> 
> i'm not writing the kansai dialect like a southern hick accent, mainly because a. that's not exactly how it works - if anything, the groups in tohoku are considered more rural and b. the kansai dialect was the de facto dialect for the first half of the edo period, until the edo dialect (which has its roots in the kansai one) took over during the later half. it'll be more informal compared to the other groups, but i'm not going with the whole y'all and dropping the g's, as i usually do that when the characters get drunk so yea
> 
> (here's a good read on it [here](https://udaitenma.tumblr.com/post/160836680570/commentary-on-the-japanese-to-english-translation) for more of an in-depth explanation)
> 
> enjoy!

“Wow, I’m dead exhausted right now… say, how about heading over to Bar Eden and popping our faces in there for a bit?”

“Don’t you just wanna hit on the bartender there?”

“You’re just jealous that the bartender pays more attention to me! You guys coming or what?”

“I’ll come, I’ll come, you big idiot. Aran? Suna?”

“Coming as well. Gotta be there so the bartender doesn’t get too ticked off with you people.”

“Sure, why not.”

“Don’t go too wild. We've got an important duty tomorrow and if you two mess up anything, you know what that means for our heads.”

“Yessir!”

* * *

You get another shiver down your spine tonight, right before the bar opens.

“Akane-chan? Be prepared to work a lot tonight.”

“Eh? What’s the matter now?”

“A pair of annoying patrons are coming in tonight. In fact, you should probably start prep work right now, because I have a feeling a lot’s going to be ordered.”

“O-OK, understood!”

You take a deep breath.

For just a split second, not a single sound can be heard.

And then-

“Hey!”

“Ho!"

“We’ve-”

“Arrived!”

“The Kitsune Twins-”

“At your service!”

Two men who look exactly alike, except with a different hairstyle and color, barge through the door and do an outlandish pose pointing at you.

_Oh dear._

You’ve become quite used to their antics already, but a small part of you couldn’t help but sigh at the mess that is to come when these two entered the bar.

The one with golden hair speaks up first. “Bartender-chan! I’m back today! I know you’ve missed my presence a lot-”

“Oh. It’s you guys.”

“Hey, what kind of response was that? Where’s your enthusiasm? After we prepped all that for you?”

“That’s the type of response you get for calling me Bartender-chan,” you reply with a tight-lipped smile.

“My apologies, Bartender-san.”

“Now that’s more like it! Welcome everybody, what can I get you all tonight?” you ask, immediately warming up your tone.

“Give us your Yamazaki, or give us nothing at all!”

“A Mizuwari please,” a black-haired man with narrow eyes, Sandy, sighs, brushing past the twins.

“If you guys wanted Yamazaki, just go to Osaka!” A dark-skinned man, Mr. Whitetail, also brushes past the twins and takes a seat. “I’ll take a Mizuwari as well, Bartender-san.”

“Understood.” You pull out the glasses and the bottles from the shelf behind you, getting started on the mixed drink first. The twins hastily sit down, not wanting to be left behind.

“You all are boring! We barely come here as is, and you just order a Mizuwari? What’s up with that?” The golden-haired man, Kintago, pokes out his tongue at the two of them. “Goody two-shoes, the bunch of you.”

“Did you forget what our leader said just a couple of hours ago? We've got a real important duty tomorrow, and I know you wouldn’t want him to get angry at you now, would you?” Mr. Whitetail responds calmly, unaffected by the man’s provocation.

“Of course, if you prefer, you can get your heads lopped off,” the other man adds on. “I’ll pass on that one though.”

At the mention of their leader, Kintago immediately freezes up. “You got me there… alright, Bartender-san! Unfortunately I won’t have my drinking contest today with Sil’ over here,” he sighs. 

“That’s fine with me. You were going to lose anyway,” Gintago remarks. 

“Oi, what are you blabbering about? Last time I checked, I was in the lead!”

“The two of you are tied,” you say, sliding over the Mizuwari drinks to the two on your right. “Here you go, Mizuwari for the both of you. The scoreline is thirteen for thirteen right now.”

“Isn’t that twenty-six in total? Do you guys do that game every time you come here or something?” Mr. Whitetail asks, sighing.

“Yep! I wanted to visit the dear Bartender-san and Pony-chan some more, but unfortunately we’re in too much need around here,” Kintago answers with a smirk. “Since we’re such a magical group and all.”

The Inarizaki are a group of onmyoji hailing from Hyogo. Their services as divinators and being a medium between here and the spirit world are well-known throughout Japan, as even the shogun hired them for a couple of jobs. 

Since they worshipped the god Inari, many of the richer farmers and famous blacksmiths asked them to bless their crops and blades. They also performed exorcisms by invoking various shikigami and familiars, but a couple of them knew their way quite well with a sword.

Of course, you and the owner are also well aware of what exactly the messengers of the Inari were. Whether they actually were the shapeshifting foxes disguised as young men, the two of you never figured out.

Though, it’s not like you didn’t have your suspicions.

“Oh, speaking of Pony-chan. Can I get everything on that menu?” the silver-haired one pipes up, pointing to the scroll, after you slide him his glass of whiskey. 

“Me too!” His twin adds. “Can’t go wrong with any of the choices.”

 _Sorry, Pony-chan!_ You send a quick prayer to the girl.

“Pony-chan! Two servings of everything we have, OK?” You call out. “I’ll help you deliver them!”

“On it!” Is called back, but with much less enthusiasm than usual.

“Anything for you two?” You turn to Mr. Whitetail and Sandy.

They shake their heads. “Seeing the twins eat just makes me lose my appetite.”

“I’ll pass as well, I’ve already eaten a proper dinner unlike these two over here.”

“I’ve eaten as well, but this fried chicken is really calling me tonight,” Gintago takes a sip from his drink.

“Is your stomach bottomless or something?”

You asked Gintago on menu recommendations before, since he often talked about food to a great extent. Ironically, he couldn’t come up with anything as he couldn’t decide what would be most appropriate.

“Speaking of food, we got a little gift from the port today, for Pony-chan,” Kintago says, pulling a small scroll out from the sleeve of his clothing.

“Here you go. It’s a recipe for something called fatty tuna, it’s quite the delicacy in the West-”

“That’s just chuutoro!” Mr. Whitetail retorts. “Don’t cover it up with an English name!”

“Ah, damn, I got caught,” he chuckles, but there’s not much disappointment in it. “And here I thought it would work on Bartender-san.”

“When both my name and Bartender are English? In what world are you living in?”

“Mr. Whitetail is certainly not holding back today with his punches,” you chuckle. 

“Of course, this is only natural for me. And your Mizuwari is particularly delightful tonight, Bartender-san.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Warms my heart to hear that.” You smile kindly at him.

“I like this Yamazaki a lot, Bartender-san! I’m here for this Yamazaki and Yamazaki only!”

“Hoh, then why don’t you go buy some from Osaka like Mr. Whitetail said?” The corners of your mouth immediately drop at Kintago’s comment.

“Oi, why am I getting the cold shoulder over here? My heart’s been thoroughly shattered to pieces!”

“You didn’t have a heart to begin with, didn’t you?”

“Wow, that one was cold…”

“Bartender-san! A little help here please!” Akane calls out. She kicks open the kitchen door with an arrangement of plates stacked on her arms and even one on her head.

“That's some pretty impressive balance you have there! Be careful!” You say, giving her a wide berth as she makes her way to the counter carefully. You enter the kitchen, finding the rest of the plates of food on the counter and pick them up with care.

As you walk back outside, you see the twins fighting over the plates, while Mr. Whitetail and Sandy could only watch in embarrassment.

_So this is starting now, huh?_

“I ordered first, don’t touch these-”

“Pony-chan set out the plates in front of me-”

“I’m the older one-”

“I’m the hotter one-”

“You absolute bastard-”

“You stinkin’ idiot-”

“You guys are from the same mother! Both of you are the same!”

“OK, OK! Settle down now, the both of you!” You chirp, and set down the remaining plates of food onto the counter. “Don’t get so aggressive, though I’m glad you guys are enjoying it! If you want seconds, Pony-chan here can certainly help with that, as long as you guys can pay.”

“Oh of course we can pay, we’ve got a big job coming up, but that doesn’t mean my edamame here will be returned-”

“Just get one from the other plate-”

“I don’t trust your shady ass-”

“You were the one that took a piece of fried chicken-”

“And you took some of my tofu-”

“No, you definitely ate that-”

Somebody else had entered the bar, very quietly. You and the other two men noticed his entrance, but the twins clearly hadn’t.

“By the way, what was up with that shikigami you summoned the other day, it was reaaally useless-”

“What are you talking about, yours was the one that was trash-”

“What was that? Mine was definitely more helpful than yours-”

“Yeah sure, and who was the one the client praised-”

“That’s because the client didn’t realize all the prep work I set up-”

“You’re just making up excuses-”

“Says you who’s doing the same-”

“Good evening, Bartender-san. It’s a nice night out.” A clear voice cuts through the atmosphere with a single slice, immediately dissipating the argument.

The twins immediately freeze up at the sound, and slowly turn around in their seats.

“Good evening, Mr. Ezo,” you give a little bow to the light gray-haired man, as he walks down the stairs with an ever-stoic attitude. “Would you like anything to drink tonight?”

“No, thank you for the offer. I’m just here to pick up a couple of people.”

The blood from the twins’ faces are completely drained out as their leader approaches them.

“Well then, it’s been a nice night, Bartender-san! I’ll see you sometime soon again,” Mr. Whitetail finally speaks up, fishing out a couple of bills from his pockets. “This is the portion for them too,” he says, holding up some more. “I’ll weasel the money out of them later.”

“Yep, see you later,” Sandy stands up, giving you a little wave.

Mr Whitetail also stands up from his stool. Mimicking Mr. Ezo, he starts dragging one of the twins by the collar of their kimono, who are now panicking quite heavily.

“Have a good night everybody!” You bow again.

“Wait! Bartender-san, please! Save us! We’re sorry!”

“There is nothing to be saved from. Come on, let’s go.”

* * *

“I’m glad that man came in at just the right time tonight as usual. His punctuality is certainly impressive.” The owner says as he bounces down the steps of the door.

“Yeah, I’m amazed as well,” you reply, your back leaning against the bar counter, more exhausted than normal. “Also at how aggressive that pair can get, it doesn’t get much worse.”

“Those twins are pretty similar to us, aren’t they?”

“Exactly in what way are they? In the first place, we don’t look at all alike. I guess the Atsumu one has a similar personality to yours since you both suck.”

“Bartender-chan, you’re so rude! We’re from the same hometown as them, remember?”

“Oh. I forgot about that.”

“What do you mean, you forgot about that? Your memory couldn’t possibly be that faulty,” he scoffs. 

“There’s one too many provinces to keep track of! And unlike you, I don’t go on a journey every couple months. I’m stuck here in _your_ bar to take care of it.” You pause for a bit, looking at a Yamazaki whiskey bottle.

“Those five… are the real ones, aren’t they?” Your voice takes on an edge.

The owner’s tone remains lighthearted, but you could tell he was serious. “Most likely. And those twins probably inherited _her_ spirit, given their attitude. I wouldn't be surprised if that sly fox split up into two to avoid getting caught.”

Tamamo-no-Mae, one of the three most powerful _yokai_ in history. A fox-spirit who had charmed her way to the hearts of emperors in multiple countries, leading each to their doom, she wielded enormous influence over the destinies of nations.

“But wasn’t she exorcised by a monk a couple of centuries ago?”

“Do you really believe that?” His voice drips with disbelief.

You let out an uncharacteristically loud laugh.

“‘Spose not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *the two metaphors in the summary are a reference to the tale of the heike  
> *since futago is twin in japanese, i combined that with kin and gin (gold and silver) for the twins' nicknames.  
> (i was actually going to call them Gold and Silver Sausage because another word for twins is souseiji... yeah. bartender-san does have their boundaries with nicknames, so we're not doing that.)  
> *ojiro, suna, and kita's nicknames are based off of the foxes furudate used for their real names
> 
> so this chapter! hoo boy! tags have been updated accordingly! i was originally going to make these foxes the mimawarigumi police force, but taking this approach makes the whole story a lot more interesting (and come on, they're inarizaki, inari is literally in the name i could not resist). so yes, yokai and other spirits do exist in this world. this won't affect the plotline that much though... kinda.
> 
> the bad news: unfortunately, i'm sad to announce this is going to be the last of the somewhat bi-weekly updates as university classes are starting and i have no idea how much the workload's going to affect the updates for this work :( i'm going to aim for at least one chapter update weekly since things are really starting to kick off now. my apologies for this, i hope you all will continue to support this work! as always, thanks for reading.


	15. winter's last blossom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ultimate bastion. A flower that blooms, despite all odds. They birthed a warrior that would only appear once every century, holding up the defense to his last breath. If Date walls let not even a single bug through, theirs let not even a single breath through. Despite any obstacle thrown at them, they would always appear again, better than before. A flower that blooms, even in the middle of a blizzard. The model of perfection.

“Bartender-chan, I bought a new model for you coming straight from Europe. This one you can supposedly operate with a more fluid body motion.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

You take off your gloves and roll up your sleeves, revealing your arms.

Or at least, an iron version of your left one.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to get a doctor for you to reattach it? I don’t want you to be unable to do your work.”

“It’s fine.”

(You always wanted to get this part over quickly.)

With a bit of force, you take off the iron prosthetic. The owner hands you the new one, a much slimmer and less heavy version. “Let’s see here…” You fit the suction onto the stump of your arm, and then securely attach it using the small belt.

The owner looks away as you do so.

“It’s not that bad, you know.”

“I’m aware.”

 _But it brings back bad memories,_ is said in the silence.

You hold up your newly-attached left arm, flexing each individual finger, and then swinging the arm around. “Oh, this is pretty nice. Technology’s really advanced now, huh?”

“Indeed it has. And you can bet that one cost me a fortune too, so be careful with it.”

“When am I not?”

You put your gloves back on.

“I appreciate it,” you say quietly.

“Aw, Bartender-chan~ No problem! Feel free to confess your undying love-”

“Nope, never mind. Also, that’s just gross.”

* * *

Thanks to the owner’s widespread connections, Bar Eden is able to obtain high-quality _nanko-ume_ , Japanese plums, straight from Kii, the province most notable for plum and orange production.

Ume have been used in the past purely for medicinal purposes, and they were especially popular amongst samurai providing an extra breath of energy or even saving them on the brink of death. It’s a popular saying that eating the plums can cure poison in food, water, and one’s blood.

Truly, a magical fruit.

And of course, as with any other fruits, alcohol can be made from it.

These plums are used for Bar Eden’s very own brewing of _umeshu_ , a type of liqueur that uses the unripe plums, chartreuse in color, dipped in a simple mixture of shochu and sugar. This is then left in the bar’s little cellar for at least nine months to ferment.

“Akane-chan, would you mind going down to the cellar? Today should be the day the umeshu are ready,” you say to the barback right as she walks in tonight.

“I’m on it!” She opens the door to the cellar, located right next to the backroom, and you hear the sounds of footsteps rush down the stairs until they disappear.

It started as one of the owner’s classic whims: he bought in some of the prized plums one day, and told you to make some umeshu with it, thinking it would bring in some profit. You complied, because why not - there was hardly any preparation necessary, and it can be left completely alone during fermentation.

The sound of footsteps coming up grows louder and louder, and Akane is carrying two large glass jars, each filled to the brim with the liqueur and plums. She sets it down onto the counter with a loud huff.

“Let’s see here…” you untie the twine wrapped around the circumference of the jar, removing the cloth covering to get a waft of the familiar sweet aroma. You then take out two small cups, meant for sampling. “Would you like to try some?” You offer Akane a cup, who nods her head and graciously accepts.

With care, you pour out the liqueur, making sure to not spill a single drop.

“Cheers!” You raise your glass to your lips, and take a long sip of the drink.

“I think the sugar to shochu ratio in this one is perfect!” Akane exclaims, after finishing her sample. “Not too overpoweringly sweet, but you can still taste the tartness of the fruit.”

“I’m in agreeance. Alright, let’s put these jars onto the shelf then.” With dextrous fingers, the two of you re-cover the opening and re-tie the string.

So, just what exactly is the purpose of doing all of this?

“Hey Bartender-san! Long time no see!” A short, white-haired man with round eyes greets you as he walks through the door.

“Good evening, Seagull. What would you like to drink tonight?”

“I’m feeling some umeshu on the rocks today!”

“Do you ever get sick of that drink?” A tall man ducks through the door, quickly engulfing Seagull’s presence. “You know it won’t help you grow any taller, right?”

“You be quiet! It’s good, strong food for you! Gives me the energy to fight another day!”

“Whatever helps you sleep better at night, I guess.”

“Welcome, Undercut. Anything for you tonight?” You ask the tall man.

“Good evening, Bartender-san. I’d like an Old Tom Martinez, please.” With long strides he takes a seat at the counter.

“Why are you all always in such a hurry to come here all the time?” A third, similarly tall man with light-brown hair walks through the door. “Bartender-san, I’ll take a Negroni as usual,” he says, taking a seat next to the left of the shortest one, who’s practically bouncing in his seat waiting to be served.

“This bar’s umeshu is the best! I can personally vouch for it!” Seagull explains, his eyes honing in on the jar of said liqueur on the shelf. 

“Thank you. I’m sure the owner would be pleased to hear that,” you respond, smiling. You take the jar and set it down in front of you. Using an old-fashioned glass, you drop in a chunk of ice and pour the drink.

“Here you go. Umeshu on the rocks.”

While Seagull waits impatiently for his drink, when he does get it, he takes the smallest of sips, as if savoring the flavor.

“Wow! The difference in sugar really does make a difference! This one’s real good, Bartender-san!” His eyes widen in glee.

“As always, glad to be of service,” you smile kindly back, as you get started on the Old Tom Martinez. Grabbing the bottle from the shelf, you pour it into the shaker, along with sweet vermouth, bitters and maraschino liqueur. You stir the drink using a bar spoon, gently blending the ingredients together.

“I bet you’re just making all that up,” the taller man to the right of him chuckles. “There’s no way you can actually taste the difference.”

“Of course I can! I drank this the very first day I came here, I can taste any difference!” Seagull retorts. “Lucky over here knows!”

“You were practically jumping to the ceiling when you found out this bar actually carried the drink,” the light-brown haired man remarks. “Almost thought you were going to break it.”

Lucky was speaking quite literally here - the short man had indeed jumped so high his hair grazed the ceiling.

“That was certainly a sight to see, I was quite surprised.” You strain the mixture into a cocktail glass. “Here you go, Old Tom Martinez.” The man gives a word of thanks, and you start the Negroni. 

“But you didn’t really look like it at all?” the white-haired man narrows his eyes, making a pout. “You didn’t stare or gape in shock or anything! Just had a ‘oh, that’s interesting’ look on your face! Maybe I should show some of my sword skills…”

“I’d be down for that! I can show you just how much being bigger just means fundamentally being stronger!” Undercut taunts.

“Let’s not do that here, OK?” Lucky sighs. “Save that for the dojo. We don’t want anything broken in here now, do we?”

“Nice save, Lucky. With that, you get your Negroni,” you wink at him, sliding over the drink in an old-fashioned glass topped with an orange slice. One of the simplest drinks to make - it calls for gin, Campari, and vermouth, equal parts.

“Appreciated.” He takes a long sip of the drink and licks his lips. “Mm, nice and tangy as always.”

“Wait! I have an idea! How about we have our duel outside then? That way we won’t be breaking the bar rules!” Seagull suddenly declares. 

You let out a long exhale. Usually people suggested duels when they were already drunk, but it seemed like certain short people had a habit of picking fights whenever they could.

“It would be a problem if somebody walked into the bar and I wouldn’t be able to serve them, no? Besides, being short doesn’t equate to incompetence, does it not?” You answer.

His olive eyes widened in shock.

“How does it feel to have your own words thrown back at you, Seagull?” Lucky chuckles.

“But… argh! That’s not how this is supposed to go! Where’s the scare factor?” His hands clutch the side of his head. “In the first place, of all people, Bartender-san is like this? What kind of people do you even know?”

“We are a bar, so many types of people pass through the door. The world out there is quite big, filled with many different types of people. Besides, I’m not the type of person to let a physical trait stop someone.” 

Your left hand twitches again.

“But, I suppose I would like to see your duel one day, with my own eyes. I’m sure it will be an amazing sight to see,” you admit.

The short man puffs out his chest in pride. “Of course it is! I’ll leave you speechless! As I do with everybody who sees me!”

“If you can beat me first,” the man next to him retorts. “I’m winning in the scoreline.”

“Oi! Don’t go messing up the score in your head just because we’re tied! That’s rude! Where’s your honor?”

“You were the one who suggested showing off his skills, where’s the honor in that?”

“I’ll break your kneecaps!”

“Can you even reach them?”

Their banter continues on for a bit, while Lucky looks at the two of them with a slight smile on his face.

“Sorry for him being like that,” Lucky apologizes to you. “He always gets heated up at those sorts of things.”

“Don’t worry about it, I've gotten quite used to it. But those two are certainly enthusiastic,” you comment to the man.

He chuckles. “That’s a nice way of putting it. It’s a good quality to have that one-track mind though.” A wistful look flashes in his eyes. “It sounds paradoxical, but it’s made me open up a lot more because of it.” He takes a sip of his drink.

“I understand what you mean.” You refill Seagull’s glass as he holds it out to you, still deeply embroiled in his argument - this was a long-standing habit of his to do whenever he was busy talking. “And you want to keep following that, no?”

“Yeah, at least for now, until I figure out what I really want to do.”

A warm smile forms on your face. “I hope you find that someday.”

* * *

“Bartender-san, I don’t think I’ve really ever seen a short samurai before, but he’s one of his clan’s greatest warriors, isn’t he?”

“Sure is. Even Owner-san speaks highly of him. That man knows he’s at a disadvantage, but it won’t stop him.”

“Wow… The owner too, huh? He must really be something else.”

“Indeed. I’m sure he’s worked hard to get to where he is now.”

_But, no matter how tall or short the opponent is, the owner can take down any of them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry there's not much dialogue in this one! i wanted to pull the focus back to the drinks for this one and there's not much (actually, hardly any, wheres the haikyuu-bu chapter at cmon) to go off on for kamomedai's characterization. hopefully you guys still enjoyed this one, this'll be the last hint for a while dropped on who you and the owner actually are!
> 
> next chapter is finally where everything turns into chaos... in a sense. see you all then!


	16. in the mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> over 2k hits already? thank you all for reading this!

“Bartender-san, the bar’s been surprisingly civil for the most part. Even though so many groups come through here, it feels like there’s never any overlapping between them,” Akane remarks to you one day.

“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty head about that. I can assure you that won’t be the case now.”

“What does that mean?”

“Because the author is going to start mixing everybody up, that’s why.”

“Bartender-san! This isn’t the type of the story to be breaking the fourth wall! In the first place, how are you the one breaking it if you’re supposed to be the reader?”

“Akane-chan, just don’t think too much about it.”

* * *

Rule number one of the bar usually didn’t have to be enforced when the same members of groups came in, but when people from all over entered, tensions could sometimes escalate to unwanted levels, so it was a part of your job to make sure this didn’t happen.

“Good evening Bartender-san!” A short man with bright orange hair enters the bar. “Can I have an Orange Creamsicle again?”

“Oh, hello there Orangey. Of course you can, take a seat. How’s everything going with you? It’s been a while since I’ve seen your face in here.”

He plops down on the bar stool in front of you, letting out an exasperated huff. “How do I even start… things haven’t been going all too well recently, honestly. Me and V Bang have this really amazing attack, you see, where we just go _shing_ and _hwing_ and it’s done us pretty good, but then our most recent fight…” He scrunches up his face. “Well, we’re kinda stuck now.”

“That sounds pretty rough,” you comment while making his drink. You had heard of the stories of the rampaging crows, who had been steadily making their comeback, only to be stopped by the might of Aoba. “Is everybody OK?”

“Yeah, there weren’t any bad injuries or anything. But… agh!” He ruffles his hair. “It’s really frustrating! And then that look he has on his face is irritating too!”

“Yoohoo, Bartender-san! I’ve arrived~” A cheery voice calls out, revealing none other than the resident Piece of Shit wearing a gray suit without a tie.

“Welcome! The regular for tonight?” You address the man.

But instead of a response, you’re greeted by a momentary silence.

“It’s the- the Great-” Orangey turns around in shock, facing the suited-up man.

“Oh, if isn’t Shorty.” The pretty man’s face immediately morphs into a frightening sort of glee. “I must be blessed tonight! The gods have looked at me with smiles and graced me with the laments of my enemy to listen to while I drink! Oh, if only _he_ were here too, that would be truly-”

“Hey, you Piece of Shit. Be mindful of the other patrons in the bar,” you cut him off with a smile. “I would prefer to not have this bar turn into your battlefield.”

“Bleh, Bartender-san doesn’t let me have any fun!” The brown-haired man sticks his tongue at you. “I wasn’t even going to do anything! Hmph!” 

“Here you go, your Orange Creamsicle.” You slide the orange soda and vanilla vodka blend to the orange-haired man, still looking at the person next to him in a mixture of shock and anger. “And you say that, but I bet your mind was already thinking of a plan for a secret attack. Where’s your partner at?”

“I’m not that despicable! And he’s off doing a job somewhere.”

“Oh, so he ditched you.”

“He did not! I sent him out on the job!”

“Um, Bartender-san!” Orangey interrupts the conversation. “Er, I’m guessing I have to call this man by his nickname too? What is it?”

“Ah right, introductions. Orangey, this is Piece of Shit. Piece of Shit, this is Orangey.”

“Could you please not use such a vulgar name? What if a woman walks in here and hears that?” 

“It’d be an accurate first impression then. Lucky you.” You stir his Old-Fashioned.

“So, er, Piece of Shit-san? Why are you here? I thought you’d be too busy to come to a bar, or it doesn’t really suit your image...” 

The man in question sighs and rests a hand underneath his chin. “It’s for the same reason why you’re here. I may be the head of a company, but I’m still a human. Humans need to relax after work, it’s just natural for us.”

You let his statement sink in for a bit while you garnish the drink.

“Here’s your Old-Fashioned. That was a nice thought there.”

“Are you trying to say something about me?”

The short one’s eyes light up. “You order a Wold-Fashioned too? That's what V Bang did!” His hands cover his mouth. “Wait… was I not supposed to say that?”

Piece of Shit’s grip tightens around his glass. “Aha… I see… That annoying kid… Should I change my order then? No, that would just be admitting a form of defeat…” His eyes narrow. 

You don’t tell him that his other archnemesis also orders the same drink.

“Whatever it is you decide to choose, I’ll be sure to not poison it.”

“Bartender-san! Aren’t you not supposed to poison it in the first place?”

“Oh, was I not supposed to? My apologies.”

“Hey! Are you really fit to be a bartender?” He exclaims in indignance.

“And as you can see here, Orangey—this man is simply a piece of shit in front of you right now,” you turn to the orange-haired man, who had been silently observing the interaction with a gaping mouth. “So don’t feel too threatened by him."

“Yes! No!”

_Yes, no?_

Said man in question takes a long sip of his drink. “I’d really prefer it if you didn’t weaponize my nickname in that manner. I can just leave and never come back to this bar.”

“Then good luck finding a bar with as excellent service as ours. I wish you all the best.”

His facial features form a haughty pout. “Maybe I will then! With your top customer gone, this bar would just fall to shambles! Destroyed! Shattered to pieces!”

“And as you can see here, Orangey - this man is also quite childish,” you again turn to the orange-haired man, now with a look of bewilderment all over his face.

“Why? Why am I getting this unfair treatment?”

“Well, I don’t really know what else you were expecting from me. Anyways, Orangey, as you technically only know this person by Piece of Shit in this bar, feel free to strike up a conversation with him. In this bar, he’s just a stranger, after all,” you wink at him.

Recognition lights up on his face. “I see! Thank you, Bartender-san! Um, Piece of Shit-san! H-how did you become the head of Ao-er, your company?” He asks the man next to him.

“What kind of question is that? My own hard work, obviously.” The president lets out a drawn-out sigh. “If you can’t think of anything worthwhile to ask, I really will leave.” He takes a sip of his Old-Fashioned.

The energetic man squints his eyes shut, deep in thought. “Hmm… Then, hypothetically speaking, if somebody were to-”

“Please cut it out with the hypotheticals. If you have something to say, say it straight.”

“Uh, OK! Then, how do I beat someone stronger than me?”

_Wow, pretty direct._

His wide eyes are once again filled with the same determination, like the first time he appeared in the bar. Clearly, the other man had noticed this too, and only stared in shock.

“Ahem.” Piece of Shit clears his throat. “I have no idea why you’re asking somebody like me this. Buy me fifty milk bread rolls, praise me as soon as you wake up each morning, and then formally declare a duel with your partner! Then win that duel! If you can’t, you don’t deserve to learn-”

“Wow, you really are shitty,” you interrupt. “Don’t you just want a worshipper at that point? Start a cult or something.”

“Maybe I will then! My good looks can get anybody to join!” He declares majestically, arms spread out. You have a strong urge to flick his forehead right there, but you hold back.

“Orangey, it’s best if you don’t listen to this man. But why do you ask that sort of question?”

“Well… me and my partner are kind of… taking a break right now,” he begins. “Nothing’s really working out for us, especially after… er, our loss against a certain group.” He frowns. “So, I was just wondering stuff about how to get stronger.”

“Stronger, huh… How about you do some training in the mountains for a month? Go find some demons there to slay—”

“Wait a second, Bartender-san? How is that example any better than mine?” A indignant tone interrupts you.

“Mine’s plausible for one. Demons are pretty strong, you know.”

“I’m well aware they are, but isn’t that a bit too wild? Now, maybe if his partner did that instead—”

“It’s a tried-and-true method, isn’t it?" You cut in, smiling. "Throw yourself out to the wilderness and learn to survive! I’m sure you’ll reach some kind of enlightenment!”

“Alright! I’ll try that, Bartender-san!” Orangey grins at you with a sparkle in his eye. “Actually, I’m going to get started right now! Thank you for the drink, Bartender-san!”

In a flurry, he leaves the bar, scurries up the stairs, pushes open the door, leaving behind a loud slam, his money, and the Aoba president.

“Wow, I wasn’t actually expecting him to do it,” you muse, collecting his payment. “Usually they tell me it’s impossible, and then I tell them to find their own meaning of strength. Rarely do they actually take the first bit of advice and go.”

“What have you even done…” He puts his head in his hands. “Are you trying to create more enemies for me to deal with? My plate’s already pretty full here!”

“But don’t you enjoy a challenge? It’ll make your defeat against the eagles all the more satisfying if you knock all of them down.”

A smirk forms on his lips. “Should I be thanking you here then? No matter who it is, we’ll take them down, mark my words. Maybe I’ll take this bar while I’m at it.”

“I’d like to see you try that,” you chuckle.

* * *

“I heard some members of the Fukurodani Group and the samurai in Nekoma were going out on a mountain excursion,” Akane comments to you while cleaning up. “I wonder how that’s going to turn out?"

“That so? Owls and cats… and now a couple of crows added to the mix too,” you respond, wiping some glasses. 

“All I can say for now, is that things are going to get caught up in the winds of change.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've actually already alluded to this happening... but phase 2 of the story is now in motion! i've left a couple of chapters open for you all to request some pairings, feel free to do so in the comments! i'll be introducing some new characters through this as well.
> 
> tentative chapter count has also been put in - depending on how much requests i receive from you guys, this number may increase. as always, thanks for reading!


	17. fatherly

“Man, that was a good hike! I’m wiped out now!”

“Those Karasuno guys got some gumption, I’ll give ‘em that, even though they managed to lose pretty much every single duel against all of us.”

“Right, right? I like that spunky orange-haired punk!”

“Don’t you just want a disciple? Well, whatever. I’m gonna head out to Bar Eden first thing, it’s been a while now.”

“Ooh, good idea! I’ll join too!”

The two of them lead their teams down the mountain range, chatting away at trivial topics.

 _They just thought it was a hike? They’re monsters…_ is on a certain man’s mind.

* * *

“And would you believe it? He really did open up! Maybe I should become a bartender too…?”

“I have a feeling you’d only tick off your customers, Mr. Rooster.”

“Oi! My provocation skills are like none other! Right, Mr. Owl?”

“You did step on a landmine in the beginning though, that was pretty funny!”

“It turned out alright in the end, who cares if I stepped on a landmine or two? Besides, you just flat out said he sucked.”

A monochrome-haired man and a bedhead are currently sitting in front of you, discussing a new comrade, as they put it, that they made in their excursion to the mountain range nearby.

“He still had a pretty bad attitude though! Didn’t even take any of our food, said he had enough”—Mr. Owl makes a small _tsk_ sound—”and he was the one who said he’s a growing boy! They all gotta eat well! That’s how you get beefy! Speaking of which, I see you still haven’t gotten any cuts of meat on your menu over there!” He nods his head to the scroll, and chomps through a piece of fried chicken.

“And like we’ve said before, we’re a bar here, not a restaurant. Oh, Mr. Rooster, would you like that filled up?” You motion to his empty beer mug, and he holds it out to you.

“You know, all the izakayas recently have been serving some grilled meats on skewers, you guys should look into that too! Especially since Pony-chan’s cooking is top notch!” Mr. Rooster remarks. “You guys usually never get any walk-ins, right? Is business maybe not going so well for you all to be doing proper meat?” He smirks, leaning slightly closer in as you fill up the beer.

You once asked the owner why the bar wasn’t known as an izakaya, to which he replied, “it sounds cooler as Bar Eden then Izakaya Eden.”

Which meant he just liked it because it had a Western ring to it.

“We make more than enough with our clientele here, don’t you worry your messy head,” you respond. “I am appreciative of your concern though. It would help us a lot if certain patrons paid their tab though.” The corners of your mouth lift upwards as you turn to the man next to him.

“Yeah! People should pay off their tab, especially if served by a cute bartender like you! Oh, wait—you meant me, didn’t you,” Mr. Owl’s face goes blank, but then quickly perks back up. “I still at least pay fully! This guy over here”—he lightly punches Mr. Rooster’s arm—”leeches off of everybody! Always sneaks his way outta paying, wherever he goes!”

“Good evening, Bartender-san! I’ll have a rum and Coke as usual, please,” a man announces as he enters the door, cutting off whatever Mr. Rooster was about to say.

“Oh, welcome, welcome, Mr. Crew Cut! Haven’t seen you here in awhile, how’s everything going?” You turn your attention to him, and the two men sitting at the bar also turn around out of curiosity.

“Oya, so Mr. Crew Cut also comes here? For some reason, I’m not that surprised,” Mr. Rooster comments, taking a swig of his beer. 

“And a rum and Coke at that… a man of simple tastes, but good tastes!” Mr. Owl adds on, nodding his head in approval.

However, Mr. Crew Cut does not respond to any of them, instead focusing his attention on the third man in the bar. 

“Oh, Mr. Olive, would you like another drink?” You ask the man who was seated on the other end of the bar counter. 

“That would be greatly appreciated,” he rumbles. “I’d like a glass of water.”

“You’re a pretty conscious man, Mr. Olive! Wait, did I use that word right…” Mr. Owl calls out to him.

"It would be unwise of me to exit the bar severely inhibited in my motions," comes the response.

Mr. Owl shrugs and doesn't push the topic further. Turning to address the other man still hovering around the entrance, he beckons Mr. Crew Cut with his hand. “Come on and join us, Mr. Crew Cut! What are you doing standing over there?” 

Mr. Crew Cut’s shocked look quickly passes over, and walks down the steps. “Good evening Bartender-san, and to the two of you (the olive-haired man had not looked his way), and I’m glad to hear you like my taste, as I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he says, taking a seat a stool away from the owlish man.

“We were just talking about the blond one in your group! How’s he doing recently?” Mr. Rooster asks, while you slide a glass of water to Mr. Olive. He nods wordlessly in thanks.

“Not much has really changed, if I’m being honest. He always puts in his work at the dojo, goes out on his patrols and such, and we can always expect him to show up during all the takeovers, but… something still feels a bit lacking from him,” says Mr. Crew Cut. “Oh, but you all are still gonna go down if you ever challenge us,” he grins.

“Come to us when you take down your area’s groups first, then we’ll talk!” The bedhead shoots back with the exact grin. “You guys got some pretty strong ones to deal with too, eh? Exactly like Mr. Olive over there, huh?”

Usually, when two rivals entered the bar, they’d respectfully give each other the distance, as they _technically_ didn’t know each other. While the groups in Edo weren’t exactly rivals with the ones up north, certain people’s names were infamous all over the country, and that was the case with Mr. Olive.

The Shiratorizawa mafia group has been historically strong, so their name often came up from the lips of people who weren’t even in their area. Being a family of powerful daimyos to the public meant they had much influence over Japan’s political and economic scenes, even more than the Aoba company. Mr. Olive was the current head of such a group.

So when the childish pair entered the bar and saw the man already sitting there, calmly sipping on his Old-Fashioned, they gawked for a couple of minutes, but then immediately walked down the stairs with an odd sort of swagger, paying no attention to Mr. Olive.

However, after a couple drinks are downed, sometimes rivals start engaging in conversation.

“We will take down any group that dares challenge us,” declares Mr. Olive, setting down his glass of water. “No matter how strong they may think they are, we will show them what it truly means to be strong.”

“Ooh, Mr. Crew Cut, seems like you’ve got some pretty harsh competition,” Mr. Owl whistles, and claps the man’s back. “Good luck!”

You garnish the cocktail with a lime wedge. “Here, your rum and Coke,” you say, sliding over the drink. “How did the three of you get so friendly all of a sudden? I didn’t know there were connections between your groups.”

(Of course, thanks to Akane, you already knew of the developing relationship between Fukurodani, Nekoma, and Karasuno.)

“Oh, we met these guys at our mountain training! You guys sucked!” The monochrome-haired one guffaws, perhaps a bit too loud. “You all are a good bunch of people though!”

“I’m also thinking of formally switching over to police work,” Mr. Crew Cut explains. “At least, once I’m done with what I want to do in my group.”

You nod your head in understanding. “That wouldn’t be too hard of a switch for you, considering your group’s nature. How were the mountains like in this weather?”

“It was pretty hot out there! But we found some good waterfalls! Mount Fuji really is amazing! Those authors and artists weren’t lying when they said the view’s great!” Mr. Owl beams.

“Served as the perfect training grounds. I still remember the first day when those kids caught up to us during the evening. That was a pretty interesting sight!” Mr. Rooster adds on.

Mr. Crew Cut lets out a sigh. “I swear those two decrease my lifespan each time I see them, they’re a mess to handle.”

“See, I told you they were your kids,” you chuckle. “Good luck raising them strong and healthy!”

“The sooner you get used to the role, the better. Us older ones really have a tough job keeping ‘em all in check. Though, that doesn’t really apply to this horned owl,” Mr. Rooster nudges the man next to him, and then leans backwards a bit. “Hey, Mr. Olive! What about you? Aren’t you one of the older ones too?”

“I don’t find it to be troublesome,” comes the response. “Everyone has things to work on, but they are all strong members.”

“Ooh, as expected! Say, why are you sitting that far away? Come closer, don’t be shy!” Mr. Owl mimics his friend, also leaning back in his seat.

“It is not necessary to me to sit closely together with people I am not acquainted with.”

“Wow, that was cold! Are you looking down on us?”

“No, not in the slightest. Both of your groups are strong. The other one however, has no such merit.” He casts the slightest of glances over to the Karasuno senior.

Now it was Mr. Crew Cut’s turn to speak. “We’ll see about that,” he declares, raising his glass to the man. “I hope you don’t get too comfortable over there.”

“A team who hasn’t beaten the hotel company does not deserve to speak so highly of themselves, even if some of your members think otherwise.”

“You four are like a bunch of fathers,” you comment casually. “It’s like you’re out to prove who the best father there is.”

There’s a moment of silence in the bar as the four people turn to look at you, a wide range of looks from shocked to neutral all plastered on their faces. 

“What, am I wrong?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

“No—but, wow, that kind of, really, huh,” Mr. Owl stammers, narrowing his eyes in thought, as if he had just been given a world-changing piece of news. Then he lets out a loud burst of laughter. 

“I guess in a way we are! We’re all proud of our men, after all!”

“Wow, something stupid didn’t come out of your mouth for once. Consider me surprised.”

“You wanna go, Mr. Rooster?’

“Fine with me! Name a time and place and you got it!”

_Or maybe not._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all sm for your support! we've reached 150 kudos, that's amazing! i wish i could express how much all of you reading this mean to me but words are Hard. all of your comments honestly help me keep churning these chapters out!
> 
> i think i've finally gotten down how i'm gonna write these chapters stylistically too with this one. hope you enjoyed! in a couple of chapters we'll finally get to some of those relationship tags listed... heh.


	18. motherly

Four men are currently sitting side-by-side to each other on the counter tonight, pleasantly chatting away with their drinks in hand.

“I’m really sorry about the mess our guys caused the other day…”

“No, I must apologize as well…”

“It seems like our commander has troubled you all…”

“I’m sorry about our shitty boss sometimes, he gets really petty at times…”

_ Is this a group apology session? _

Akane next to you looks wildly lost at the interactions everybody was having.

“Bartender-san,” she whispers, “why are they all apologizing to each other?”

“Pony-chan,” you whisper back, “please don’t ask me. Sometimes people just need to apologize for their catharsis. Probably.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Bartender-san! Another dry martini please!” A gray-haired man pipes up, holding out his glass. It’s currently his first for the night, so his face isn’t a brilliant shade of tomato just yet.

“Understood.” You pour gin, vermouth, and orange bitters into the shaker and start stirring.

“I swear, sometimes our kids could learn to use their brains though! We’ve got one who knows all his stances and stuff just like that, but I’m not even sure if he can read!” Mr. Gray whines, letting out a sigh of exasperation. “I know you don’t really need that, but what happens if he gets an order on paper and messes it up? Thinking about it just stresses me out…”

“Is that why your hair’s gray?” you ask teasingly, straining the mixture. “That won’t do you good, how are you going to get married when you’re already looking old?”

“The bartender’s right, Mr. Gray! You should stop worrying about them so much!” Mr. Hen pats Mr. Gray’s back with a solid thump.

“I don’t want to hear that coming from you! Your hair’s light enough, you should watch out too!” You twist a lemon peel onto the martini glass and slide Mr. Gray the drink, to which he gives a thanks.

“Don’t worry about me when you’re the one with the problem here!” the sandy-haired man chuckles, and takes a swig of his shochu. “Speaking of gray hair, isn’t Gunmetal’s commander also somebody with gray hair?”

“He is, but he doesn't act anything like elderly man,” comes the reply as Gunmetal sips his wine. “Quite the opposite, in fact, with how childish he can be.”

“Oh really? I’m in a similar situation. Sometimes I wonder how my boss has managed to survive for all these years with how stupid he acts sometimes,” Mr. Musclehead chimes in. “He doesn’t even know how to take care of himself properly either. If I take my eyes off him for just a second, who knows what trouble he’d run into.”

“Heh. It seems like our leaders are quite similar,” Gunmetal replies, and you really wanted to say  _ no they definitely aren’t _ but you hold back. “It would perhaps be unwise for them to meet though. Who knows how much headache they’d cause us.”

“Sounds like a good idea, I’ll keep it in mind,” the tanned man chuckles. “Mr. Gray over there is pretty lucky, having a pair of helpers for them. Where I work, everybody has to take care of themselves. It’s a pretty helpful development process for the new ones, but sometimes it’s nice not needing to do everything for yourself.” He takes a sip of his whiskey. “Also, if we opened up that position, I feel like it might just become a mess…” his voice trails off with a sigh.

Mr. Musclehead had been the first to enter the bar tonight, and chatted amicably with you about the current happenings in his work—they had recently hired back a mercenary, who was giving them a “little bit of trouble, but he at least listens to me.” Then, Mr. Gray had entered with Mr. Hen quickly following behind, the former initially a bit on edge at seeing Mr. Musclehead, but they quickly got over their tensions after getting to know each other. Finally, Gunmetal entered last, who was in friendly relations with Mr. Gray and Mr. Hen, and also got to be acquainted with Mr. Musclehead.

In any other place that the four could’ve met up, the atmosphere may have not been as friendly as it was currently—such was the magic of Bar Eden. At the same time, the four were never particularly boisterous or fiery personality-wise to begin with, unlike a couple of their counterparts.

“They’re definitely a big help, but they’re not with us all the time, so most of the guys still have to take care of themselves,” Mr. Gray replies, swirling his martini. “Oh, but one of them recently has produced some really nice paintings of us, they’ve been circulating quite nicely throughout. Bartender-san, did that have to do anything with you? She said the idea was given to her at a bar.”

_ So she took the advice, huh? _ “I won’t say anything on the matter, but that’s nice to hear,” you choose to say. “I must say, helpers are pretty helpful, like dear Pony-chan over here.”

“I can imagine, Pony-chan’s agedashi tofu is really well done,” Mr. Musclehead says. “Our shitty boss is on some weird Italian food renaissance with names I can’t even pronounce. A good meal is a simple meal, you don’t need all the extra stuff to go along with it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Musclehead-san!” Akane next to you bows, barely avoiding hitting her head on the counter in the process. “I’m a bit curious as to what exactly your boss serves though,” she comments, standing back up.

“I can’t even begin to describe how much of a sin it is, don’t worry about it,” the man chuckles.

“But how come Pony-chan can make agedashi tofu but not mapo tofu? Extra spicy too,” Mr. Gray asks, a small pout on his face.

“My apologies, Mr. Gray-san, but if you want food, go to a restaurant instead, as we always say! Mapo tofu will not be an exception, even if it uses tofu!” she replies with a triumphant look on her face, and you couldn’t help but smile at her comment. 

“Bartender-san really is blessed with somebody as reliable as Pony-chan! It’s a pain taking care of a bunch of cats everyday, honestly!” Mr. Hen says after a long swig of his shochu, and the familiar tinge of pink on his cheeks are starting to show. “They’re causing me all kinds of worries with how they act, and sometimes I swear they’re doing it just to get me! Picking fights left and right, acting like a bunch of idiots! Especially our new guy! He’s the worst! Always rubbing in his height, but has nothing to show for it! His sister’s an absolute beauty on top of that!” His voice slowly rises in frustration.

“I can kind of understand where you’re coming from… all of our new guys are taller than me, even though height isn’t really important for my position, it still feels kind of awkward when they’re looking down on me…” Mr. Gray chuckles uneasily, a hand behind his neck. “I guess there’s one guy who isn’t, but there’s still three others who are.”

“You really get me, Mr. Gray! We gotta both do our best!” Mr. Hen almost sends Mr. Gray toppling forward with his second back thump of the night. “That applies to you two too!” He leans forward, addressing the two men next to Mr. Gray. “We’re the glue in our team that really holds everybody together! You as well, Pony-chan!”

As the night progresses, Mr. Gray and Mr. Hen steadily become more intoxicated, while the other two remain in their slightly buzzed state.

“I’m… telling ya… we’ll get them! We’ll get them for sure!” Mr. Gray slurs, slumping forward on the counter. 

“Yeah… you better, alright? I’m holding you to that!” Mr. Hen replies, equally out of it.

“Bartender-san… will these two be alright?” A hint of concern is present on Gunmetal’s otherwise expressionless face.

“Probably.”

“That doesn’t really sound like a sufficient answer?” Mr. Musclehead asks, brows furrowing in worry.

“Those guys know how to take care of themselves for the most part,” you say, filling up two glasses of water for them. “Though if things do get worse, we have it covered.”

“I wouldn’t be terribly opposed to helping them out,” he replies, setting down his glass. “They’re definitely better drinking buddies than my boss.”

“I’m glad to hear you’ve enjoyed your time here. Unfortunately, I’d advise against that since it somewhat violates rule number four,” you reply.

“Why does such a rule exist?” Gunmetal asks. “It seems a bit difficult to ask your customers to forget their conversations in this bar.”

“Once you step out of those bar’s doors, you step into your reality. Just treat this bar as a place where that reality doesn’t exist. Besides, your bonds with the other patrons in this bar only exist with the names here,” you explain, and Akane behind you starts setting away the bottles. 

The two of them choose to not say anything more on the matter. 

“Well then, I’d better start making my way back. Thanks for the drinks, Bartender-san,” Mr. Musclehead rises from his stool and fishes out some money. 

“I will as well,” Gunmetal follows, giving you a nod. The two promptly exit the bar, leaving behind the thud of a door and two drunkards.

“Ah? They’re all.. goin’ already? S’pose we should go too, Mr. Hen... “ the gray-haired man drowsily gets up from his seat, stumbling around a bit.

“You sure you can even… walk in that state?” Mr. Hen giggles, patting himself to find his money. “‘S dangerous out there!”

And just to be sure—

“You sure the two of you will be alright out there?” you ask. “We can always call a ride.”

“Dontcha start worryin’ about me now, when you got enough on your plate! Thanks for always, Bartender-san!” Mr. Gray slaps down his payment.

Mr. Hen does the same after a bit more searching on his clothing for money. “Yep, exaaaactly what Mr. Gray said! We can’t be makin’ you worry after us! See you around, Bartender-san!”

“Come again!” you call out with a bow.

With a bit of effort, the two exit the bar, this time leaving behind just you and Akane.

“Why do they insist on not getting a ride?” Akane asks you, brows furrowed. 

You start wiping the empty glasses everybody had left behind. “A mother never lets anybody worry over them, don’t they? Besides, those two are more reliable than how they appear. That’s a mother’s role too, after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (it's the way i could've written this in the meiji or taisho era so i wouldn't have to face this many historical problems... plan out your stories beforehand no matter how oneshot-like they seem, everyone. but doing that somewhat negates the whole supernatural plot point so...)
> 
> this chap is on the shorter side, hope you don't mind! next week will be a double update and ive got something special for chapter 20 so stay tuned :) thanks for reading as always! (it just felt like a couple chapters back when we got to 2k hits, and now it's 3k? damn thats crazy)


	19. aspirations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New to the game, new to the fame. Cuts and bruises sprouted on their bodies, blood and sweat intermingled on their skin. Young and dumb, but they were at least going to give it their all, because they didn’t know what else to do, because they wanted to do. And maybe one day in the future, they could bloom into beautiful flowers of dazzling colors, but for now, they were simply buds, prone to the elements, prone to snapping off.

New people who came to the bar usually got accustomed to it after a couple of visits, though some still struggled with the customs that came along with it. 

“Bartender-san! I promise to you tomorrow will finally be the day I can beat Ushij—”

“Mr. Olive.”

“Right! My apologies! Tomorrow I will finally beat Ush-er, Mr. Olive-senpai!”

“I’ll be cheering you on, Bowlcut-san! I have to do my best as well! By the way Bartender-san, do you know how to make every drink?” A blond-haired man with three black strands sticking straight up, Twotone, asks you, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“I can pretty confidently say I know most that goes around here,” you respond with a grin. “Why do you ask?”

“Well… there was this one bar that I visited the other day and had a really cool-looking drink and I was wondering if you could make it again!”

“That depends, can you describe it to me with more details?”

“I think it had a blue or purple color? And the bartender mentioned something about gin? Or was it vodka…”

“My apologies, but I’d need much more description than that to work off of,” you bow politely. “If you’d like, I can make you a blue cocktail though.”

“Ooh! That sounds cool! I’d like that please!”

Akane wordlessly hands you the bottle of curaçao and you get to work, mixing it with vodka and lemonade.

“So Bartender-san… um… can I get your advice on something?” Bowlcut asks after a somewhat large sip of his Old-Fashioned (mixed with brandy and soda instead of whiskey in water for a milder taste; he had not particularly enjoyed the taste of the original despite his firm insistence to stick with it).

“Of course. I’ll try to help you out the best I can,” you answer, now pouring the blue mixture into a highball glass.

There’s a bit of a pause before Bowlcut responds. “Actually… do you think you can come up with ideas to help me beat Mr. Olive-san? I’m kind of lost…”

Bowlcut and Mr. Olive’s rivalry, while not exactly publicized, was a matter you were privy to, thanks to Bowlcut’s continued conversation on the matter. The up-and-coming samurai came from a distinguished background, and truly believed he would be the strongest…

Until he met Mr. Olive, who was just better than him in every way possible, be it with the sword or without. And Bowlcut himself was powerful, but never enough. He spent a good number of nights at Bar Eden mulling over his losses but always striving to improve.

It was quite endearing to watch, you thought. Though you couldn’t really relate to him given your peerless status as Edo’s greatest bartender, you still found yourself cheering for him.

“Let’s see here… you’ve already done countless duels, races, and other tests of strength, haven’t you?” you ask, topping off the blue cocktail with an orange garnish and wordlessly slide it over to the other man, who accepts it happily.

“Yes! I’ve also done eating challenges and even a  _ shakuhachi _ performance! But even with that he was really good! It moved me to tears…” he closes his eyes in reminiscence, but then shakes his head vigorously. “But I can’t be thinking about that! That’s why I don’t know what other challenge to do!”

“Let’s see here…” you tap your finger on your chin in thought. “Well, we are a bar here, so if you feel confident enough in your alcohol-holding prowess, you could do a shots challenge.”

“Oh! I see, that makes sense!” His eyes also sparkle. “Do you know if Mr. Olive-senpai holds his alcohol well?”

“Wait, wouldn’t asking that kind of question be not allowed?” Twotone asks, and his glass is already halfway done.

“It’s technically not, but I’m not really sure if I’d be able to answer that question despite the rules.” Mr. Olive never left the bar inebriated, or if he did, he’d never show it on his face. He never drank until the telltale red blush appeared, like many others do, and his words never sounded like one of a drunkard’s.

“If it helps you at all, I managed to beat one of my kyodai at a drinking contest!” Twotone pipes up, his Blue Lagoon already finished. “So maybe if you can win against me, you can win against yours?”

Just recently, Twotone, Mr. White, and Sideswept/Mr. Bastard visited the bar, the third man’s intentions most likely to try and get back at the newest member of the Date clan for all his troubles.

Unfortunately, it backfired quite spectacularly. At the end of five shots, Sideswept/Mr Bastard had called it quits, while Twotone wasn’t even tipsy (though his normal personality was already high-energy).

“That sounds like a good idea! Alright then, Bartender-san! If you would please get us some tequila then!” Bowlcut turns back to you with a slight bow.

“A fine weapon of choice. Understood.” From the well you take out the tequila bottle and some shot glasses. “Let’s limit yourselves to four today, in case some unexpected consequences happen.”

“Okay! I’m more than ready to take you on, Twotone!”

* * *

“This is… a bit sad…” Akane remarks, standing next to you.

“Pony-chan, remember to not judge people for their drinking tendencies.”

“I know, but… it feels like he’s just a doomed cause.”

It wasn’t the fourth, third, or even the second shot that did him in.

No, it was the very first shot that Bowlcut had downed that had completely knocked him on the bar counter. Twotone had already taken his leave after you assured him you could handle things.

“Well, I suppose he’ll just have to find himself another way to do a challenge.” You reach over the counter to poke the man’s cheek, who only gives a grumble in response.  _ This is going to be a bit troublesome. _

“Do you think he’ll ever win? Against Mr. Olive?”

With a heave, you take the left arm of the barely conscious Bowlcut, wrapping it across your shoulder “Probably not anytime soon, if I’m being honest.”

“Couldn’t he do it if he tried hard enough?” she asks as she takes the other arm (though with her height, it was somewhat comedic to watch). 

“Perhaps one day in the far future, he might,” The two of you walk up the stairs with Bowlcut dragged across the floor. With your left arm and your foot, you somehow manage to push open the door. “But Mr. Olive is a special person. This one’s gotta find out his own strengths to beat him.”

The two of you step outside, greeted by the chilly night air.

“For now though, he’ll just have to learn and grow from his mistakes.

* * *

“Tendou-senpai! What do you think my biggest strength is?”

The very next day, Tsutomu asks Tendou this during a downtime in their practice.

“Eh? Where’s this coming from?”

“Er… well, I was just curious! Yeah!”

The red-haired man looks at his junior with confusion, but it slowly morphs into one of understanding.

He lets out a cackle. “I could tell you, but where would the fun in that be? So go figure it out yourself!”

With a dissatisfied sigh, Tsutomu returns back to his practice swings.

_ Bartender-san, what did you mean? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> school's got me a bit in a pinch rn,,, this one also ended up being way shorter than expected, apologies again. mildly unrelated but check out my twitter [here](https://twitter.com/senshiire) if you want to see the occasional fanart of these boys in this setting! 
> 
> the next chapter will still be published this week and it'll be quite longer than the usual length :) hope you enjoyed this, let me know in the comments how yall are feeling!


	20. lone wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He works alone. A dual-wielder with complete control over his body, he cut down everybody and everything in his way. The permanent smell of copper and smoke lingered on his skin. Get too close and he’ll bare his finely sharpened fangs that could tear anything apart. He exists, solely for the blade and nothing else.
> 
> ...but even beasts need their rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: this chapter's tone will be significantly darker than the previous ones. also, lots of swearing present.

Sake. The oldest alcohol-containing drink ever made in this world.

Back in the early days, the drink could be made just by chewing on rice and spitting the mush into a jar, left to ferment. Now, the process is more refined and sake brewers are regarded highly in society, holding the same position as artists. 

The rice used for making sake is quite special—it is unpalatable for eating because it lacks flavor, which is why it’s perfect for making the beverage.

Bar Eden holds a special tradition with the drink; the unspoken fifth rule of the bar was that if somebody were to prepare for battle or to spill out their deepest troubles to the bartender with nobody bothering them, they’d order sake. The drink was to not be called for in any other situation. Usually, the latter situation happened.

Sometimes, you could just feel when these sorts of days were going to happen. 

And today was one of them.

_ Who will it be tonight? _ You stand right behind the counter, Akane next to you. There’s currently nobody else in the bar, but just as the clock strikes 7—

“Oi. Give me your sake,” a deep voice growls. A man with blond hair with shaved stripes running down the side stalks down the steps, his teeth baring out and eyes narrowed. If there was anyone else in the bar tonight, they would’ve certainly stopped their conversations at how cold his tone was.

“Also, some of your fried chicken,” he adds on, just a touch softer, as he takes a seat.

_ Well, isn’t this unexpected. _

“Welcome, Stripey. Your order will be served out soon."

You gently nudge the barback at your side, who has a somewhat shocked look on her face, but immediately hurries off to the kitchen. You never let Akane sit in on these to ensure complete privacy between you and the patron.

From the shelf, you grab a  _ tokkuri _ , a special gourd for holding sake, painted a rich brown with minimal designs. Surprisingly, the one thing the owner didn’t like ornery on was his sake bottles.

(“Sake is a simple drink, and a simple container is all it needs.”

“Just be real and say you’re broke from spending your money on your clothes!”)

You place it on the countertop, and then grab a  _ sakazuki _ , a small, somewhat flat cup specially for drinking sake, pour out the rice beverage, and hand him the cup.

“So what brings you to Bar Eden tonight?” you ask the man, who’s already downed the drink in a couple seconds flat.

“Another,” he rasps, holding out the cup to you.

“Take it easy with these, alright?” you oblige, and this time he takes a slower sip. “This isn’t an alcohol for shots.”

“Do I gotta get asked why each time I want a drink? And don’t tell me how much to fucking drink.” He spits out each word like they held venom.

“Of course, if you want to sit in silence, that’s perfectly fine, but you did order sake.”

Stripey usually showed up at the bar once every couple months. He drank some glasses of whiskeys and then left without much to say, unlike some of his other coworkers and Aoba, but always paid in full. His usual seat was far off in the corner, and most people tried to avoid him as best they could.

“Tch. It’s just a drink. Not written out on the rules that I gotta talk or something,” he grumbles.

“It may be a drink, but it’s still a longstanding tradition this bar has kept,” you reply. “Though, I guess, some things take centuries to build up but fall in mere seconds.”

“Fuck if I care about that bullshit. ‘Sides, I could just be getting ready for battle. Isn’t that another reason why people order the drink?”

You merely hum in response.

“A fried chicken!” Akane calls out, attempting to mask her rising pitch at seeing the intense scowl on Stripey’s face. He mutters a ‘thanks’ and grabs the plate from her hand, immediately tearing through the crispy skin. You give her a warm, encouraging smile and she returns back to the kitchen.

“So, did that Piece of Shit of your boss do something weird again?”

He finally looks up at you, a bit startled. 

“How the fuck do you know?”

“Call it an intuition.”

It was actually just a lucky guess. The sound of noisy chewing fills the air as he takes his time to respond.

“...They asked me back,” he mutters.

Stripey is a mercenary and his skills with the blade were not to be looked down upon, but that came with a great deal of trouble for his contractors; he was known to have a particularly nasty temper. The man only worked for himself, not caring about what his contractors’ goals were.

At least, that was what he’s known for on the outside.

“And? What happened?”

“Why the fuck are you asking? You got some ulterior motive or something?” His eyes train sharply on yours in a flash of anger, searching over every inch of your skin.

It stirs some sleeping memories inside.

“No, I’m just a bartender, looking out for their patrons. Consider me curious,” you answer lightly. “This is just part of my job.”

The man’s posture relaxes just a smidge after a long, tense pause. He most likely didn’t determine you as a threat, for whatever reason you’re unsure of.

“Nothin’ that interesting. Just a bunch of stupid seniors yapping their heads off like usual.”

“Those people can get pretty loud, can’t they?” you chuckle. “Especially that piece of shit, going on and on about him being a god and all.”

“That fucker was trying to train me like a dog.”

An image of the Aoba president consulting a training manual pops up in your mind. “Sounds just like him to do that.”

“He’s just a shitty man who isn’t even strong. I could definitely beat him in a duel. ‘I’ll make you beg to be hired here permanently’, my ass. Customers are annoying as hell too, fucking pisses me off at their damned act,” he replies darkly, taking another sip.

“Is there anybody you tolerate there?”

“Ah? What the fuck is that bullshit?” His attention is suddenly turned towards you. “I’m a fucking mercenary, I don’t do the friends business with whoever hired me!” His hands pick up another strip of chicken. “All of those bastards can just fuck off for all I care.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t really mean the friend sort of way, just anybody who you didn’t harbor a dislike for.”

“Same fucking deal, I don’t do that crap.” Some more noisy chewing. “It’s best to work alone. Saves you effort down the line. Annoying as hell to deal with partners.”

Thanks to your years of experience, you already knew what to say next.

“Do you really don’t do relationships, or are you just frustrated and exhausted with yourself?”

An incredulous look spreads across his features. “What the fuck do you mean by that?”

A flash of steel passes by in your mind.

“A personal anger, you see, isn’t something that just happens out of nowhere. There’s usually something inside you that creates the anger. The anger coats your feelings, because you don’t know what to do with them.”

It had been a cold night, that night. The soles of your feet still remember the snow it touched upon, despite the many, many years that had passed since then. 

You stare directly into his light brown eyes, the color of honey, but guarded by thick black lines, warning people who dared to look close to stay away. But perhaps he too, had some of the ingredient’s sweetness deep down, swirling in those depths. He flinches a bit at your sudden gesture and his shoulders tense, waiting for your next move.

“It builds up inside you. You’ve been contracted to your company in the past but left after some disagreements, haven’t you? Since you’re a mercenary, you don’t like working as a team, but your company insists you do so, because that’s how they function. But you still haven’t left the group yet, which is why you’re frustrated at your—”

“Shut up,” he growls, cutting you off, slamming his fist onto the counter. The cup of sake and his plate tremble, and the clear drink spills out onto the counter. “Just. Shut the fuck up.”

A heavy silence fills the bar and Stripey lets out a ragged exhale.

The man has never voiced any of his thoughts to the people around him, and he never will. 

Because who would take the time to understand a mercenary? All he had to do was to fit into their puzzle of attack. Just another pawn they sought to keep under their control. It was absolutely ridiculous, the way Aoba had such a sickeningly gross and shallow face to the public contrasted against what they did when night fell.

Practice at the dojo was just a waste of time. If they wanted to train how to fight, it was best to just do that out in the streets. The sword can be learned anywhere, not just in some stuffy old dojo with wooden sticks.

And the mercenary hated it all. It was stupid to him. Which is why he stayed far away from that company as much as he could, even when he was contracted to do work for them.

So why was it, that just an old bartender working at some random old bar, could read him in an instant?

You didn’t even know his name, and he didn’t know yours. All you did was serve him whiskeys and fried chicken whenever he asked for it. You called him ‘Stripey’, which he grudgingly obliged to, because it was at least a bit better than ‘Mad Dog’, which the Aoba members were hellbent on calling him. You mostly left him to his own in the corner, but today, just because he ordered some rice alcohol, you were suddenly talking his head off.

Was it the drink that somehow made him completely exposed and vulnerable? He looks to the small spill on the counter. The clear liquid gave him none of the answers he wanted.

It didn’t make any sense. 

“Why do you know,” he finally says, with a much meeker tone than he expected.

Your smile drops for a brief moment. “We’ll just say personal experience,” you say, drumming your left hand on the counter. It makes an oddly heavy and dull sound, but he doesn’t pay much attention to it. “I know somebody who went through a similar experience as you did.”

He examines your face, eyes narrowed. It revealed nothing to him. Who exactly were you?

“It took a long time for that person to realize what went wrong,” you continue, staring off into the distance at some place on the wall. “They were angry at the world for taking away something very important to them, and went on a rampage because of it. But in truth, they were just frustrated at themselves for not being able to do anything about it. They were pretty strong, you see. They thought they could protect what was most dear to them, but couldn’t do a single thing at the end.”

“Get to the damn point already.”

“Let’s see… The person lashed out at everybody they met, eventually left alone. I know you’re a mercenary, but you’re still not truly alone, you have the bond of the contractor with you. No matter how little significance that has to you, it’s still something that connects you to somebody else. Being truly alone in this world, is something nobody should ever face.” For a split second, your eyes take on a faraway look.

You then take a cloth and wipe the spilled drink on the counter. “I guess what I’m trying to say here, is that it’s OK to feel angry, and frustrated, and exhausted at everything. Things in life are unfair, and you want to fight against that.” With one final wipe, the counter is now dry again. “But, it’s not okay to bottle these things up inside you. Sometimes, that’ll cause even more trouble down the line.”

For a brief moment, his eyes widen almost imperceptibly.

“What happened to that person.”

He’s not entirely sure why he wants to know what happened. There was no way he could connect with such a shittily-told story, is what he thinks.

“Them? They eventually met some people who they could connect with, thankfully. They’re doing pretty well now, if I do say so myself,” you reply with a smile.

“You spouted that shitty story just to fucking arrive at that?” he snaps, but there’s not much of a threat in his words.

“My apologies. I haven’t shared this story to anybody, so excuse my rambling. You can call it just a blabbering bartender’s tale, I suppose. And I’m not even drunk,” you chuckle. “I just don’t want you to fall into their same fate that they had experienced before. Besides, your boss and team may seem pretty shitty to you, but they do still depend on you, and trust that you do your job. That’s pretty rare, in this world. So sometimes, you just have to deal with them.”

Your words oddly mirrored a certain annoying member on the team, he realizes. It was slightly horrific to think about, but just perhaps, they held some grain of truth in them.

“And why the fuck would you care? You’re just a bartender.”

“It’s because I’m a bartender here that I care. Besides, you were the one that ordered sake. Like I said before, I’m going to uphold this bar’s traditions.” Your fingertips lightly brush against the countertop on the bar, and your smile seems to be directed at something he doesn’t know.

“In my time working here, I’ve come to learn that, no matter how much a person pushes away others, everybody still has a desire to be understood, by at least somebody in this world. That’s why we have that rule with sake.”

The man mulls over your words for a bit.

Was he, deep down, just wanting to be understood by someone?

_ No way in hell is that possible. _

He was just a mercenary; he just had to do his job and get his payment. That was it for him. As long as he could swing his blade, he’d be satisfied. No understanding necessary.

“Tch. Sounds dumb,” he mutters, and you refill his cup again.

“Which is why I’ll ask you again, if there’s anybody you can at least tolerate,” you reply.

And he’s about to answer no again, to end the conversation right there, because it was just a waste of breathe, but despite what he thinks—

“There’s this  _ one _ shitty guy, who’s got some balls talking to me,” he begins. “It’s… weird. I don’t like it.” He’s not sure why he’s saying this, but the words don’t stop from his mouth. 

“At first glance, I thought he was even worse than the boss with how damn shallow he is. But…” he examines his cup, deep in thought. “I don’t fucking know. He’s a goddamn weakling but he still argues with me, like he’s not scared.”

“That so? Sounds like he’s pretty unaffected by you then.”

“He’s annoying as hell, is what he is,” he grumbles, taking another bite from his chicken.

And as if on cue—

“Good evening, my dear Bartender-san! How are you doing on this fine—wait, what the fuck are you doing here?”

A light brown-haired man walks through the door, face immediately souring upon seeing Stripey at the stool. Said man turns around, and his mouth immediately forms a snarl, reverting back to his previous disposition.

“What the fuck? Can’t I drink in goddamn peace?”

“Who knows what you’ll do to dear Bartender-san over here! I didn't know you even come to this bar!”

“Welcome, and don’t worry about me, Seventhree. This man is pretty pleasant to talk to. Anything to drink for you tonight?”

“Unfortunately, I won’t be able to grace you with my charms, as I’m here to pick up that man,” Seventhree says, jerking his thumb towards Stripey. “Everybody’s worried about you. Let’s go back.”

“Tch.” The stool scrapes the floor, and he stands up, fishing for some money in his pockets.

“Thanks,” is muttered so low as the payment is slapped onto the counter that you barely catch it, and he stalks up the steps. “The fried chicken was good.”

“Glad to hear it! Come again!” you respond with a polite bow.

* * *

“Owner-san, have you found my sword yet?”

“No. Unfortunately, my travels proved to be useless. My sincerest apologies.” The owner is leaning against the counter while you do a last minute checkup of everything. Akane had already left thirty minutes ago.

“Are you even searching in the right places?”

“Of course I am, Bartender-chan. Nagasaki is where we can get into contact with all parts of the world. But, why do you ask?”

You pause a bit. “Just curious, that’s all.”

“What, does this have to do something with your conversation earlier with that mercenary?”

“Who knows.”

“You really are amazing. Are you sure it was smart of you to say all of that?”

“He’s someone trustworthy, despite how he acts.”

“It seems my trust in you was never misplaced that day, my dear ringleader—”

“Owner-san,” you cut in. “Your policy is to call my Bartender-chan, and Bartender-chan only. Nothing else, wasn’t it?”

His golden mask, as usual, reveals none of his emotions. A soft sigh escapes from his lips. “Are you really this adamant on not talking about it?”

“For now, yes. It distracts me from my job, you see. After all, I’m the best bartender in the nation. I can’t let a past ruin that. Good night, Owner-san.”

He watches you exit the bar without another word.

_ Is that really what you think? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first off, we're now 1/3 of the way done w/this fic, can you believe it? i definitely can't! this is the first of many of the solo chapters that will come in the future and definitely not all of them will be as dark as this one was, but it'll be in a similar vein of revealing the more intimate/personal side for both the character featured and for you the bartender.
> 
> secondly, i'm going to be taking a short hiatus due to some burnout. i want to make sure each chapter is up to quality and not increasingly lacking in content, so i'll be back in a couple weeks, hopefully (for those of you that also read polaris, updates for that will still continue as normal).
> 
> leave a comment on your thoughts! i welcome all speculation/theories/headcanons (though i will not confirm accuracy), no matter how wild/crazy you think it is!


	21. the two textures of an egg

Thanks to spending a long (with extra emphasis on long) time working at Bar Eden, you developed an uncanny sixth sense to understand people’s faces and what sort of personalities lay underneath their surfaces. Things like that were required for such a line of work.

“You really think that wasn't a good disguise?”

“On the contrary, I think it was more your attitude that scared people off.”

“Attitude… but I really tried to be just like a company member by thinking about being one…”

“I know thought counts for fifty percent of the process, but please don’t forget the other fifty percent of actually doing it.”

“I see…” The black-haired man furrows his eyebrows in thought. “Do you have any advice on how to do that? Changing your attitude?”

“You could be like Puddinghead here, his presence is barely noticeable.” You motion to the man sitting a couple seats away.

“Who—oh!” His eyes widened. “That’s true! I didn't even notice him!”

“Please don’t bring me into this,” Puddinghead remarks. Usually he took a spot at the booth if the bar counter was crowded, but tonight he had been the first person to enter the bar and exchanged a couple words of conversation with you until V Bang entered next—then he immediately clammed up, focusing intently on his apple pie. 

“But Bartender-san, I’m… kind of surprised at you. How do I say this… most people seem to avoid me whenever I approach them?” V Bang asks. “Not that I mind, but sometimes it impedes our work when we do patrols.”

“I have no reason to fear anybody, that’s why,” you respond, smiling. “Want another daiquiri?”

He nods and you set about making the rum cocktail. “Perhaps it’s a matter of your face though? Have you tried to smile instead of looking so grumpy all the time?”

“Like this?” The corners of his mouth stretch to the far ends of his face as his teeth are bared out, his dark eyes looking even more menacing than usual.

“No—actually, never mind. I think it’ll be a lost cause.”

“I see…”

“But don’t fret it too much. People like Puddinghead over here manage just well while others avoid him.” You strain the mixture into a coupe glass, and slide it over to V Bang.

“I want other people to avoid me though.”

“You say that, but your hair stands out a lot, does it not?”

The man reaches out for a strand of his hair and tugs on it. “This is because… I thought it wouldn’t make me stand out. That’s what Rooster told me to do.”

“I wonder if that has any effect on your abilities?” you offer lightheartedly.

“Does it?” V Bang’s eyes immediately light up. “That might be good to study…”

“There is absolutely none,” Puddinghead sighs, taking a sip from his wine. “Besides, doesn’t the orange-haired one in your group also have an unnatural hair color? He stands out a lot.”

“That’s natural,” V Bang responds drily.

“Oh, the two of you are both familiar with Orangey, aren’t you?” you pipe up.

It had been a long while since you saw Orangey and V Bang first make their appearance at the bar, when the two were still new and fresh-faced onto the scene. Stories of their run-ins with other groups were not uncommon to your ears and many people who came to the bar often commented on the striking duo.

However— V Bang’s scowl immediately worsens. “Tch. I don’t know what he’s running off to do right now,” he replies, sulking over his drink.

Only a select few people knew of the current rift between the two men and how they even had a duel to settle their differences—no definite conclusion was reached and they ended up calling a truce. Since then, the two refused to see each other. It had been a shifting of the power balance that caused this upset, something you were all too accustomed to.

“That sounds troublesome to deal with. The two of you seemed so inseparable.’

“What? Me with him? No way in hell,” he sputters out. “He’s just an annoying cockroach. Doesn’t ever die.”

You let out a chuckle. “A cockroach, huh? He is on the short side.” An image of the jumpy orange boy pops up in your mind. 

“But that’s also one of his strengths,” Puddinghead’s husky voice interjects. “He’s… interesting to watch.”

Both Puddinghead and V Bang fulfilled similar roles as being a strategist and as Puddinghead’s group was also a part of the Fukurodani force (despite his boss operating a brothel), his fame as being particularly persistent was well-spread throughout Edo. One could not win a war of attrition against the Nekoma samurai, as they would always emerge victorious.

“Kind of like he’ll always have something new up his sleeve when you see him?” you ask.

“Mm. Pretty much.” A small but rare smile forms on his lips. “It’s exciting.”

“Well there you have it,” you say to the dark-haired man. “Don’t leave your partner alone for too long, alright?”

“Tch. Whatever,” he scoffs and takes a sip of his drink. “By the way, does this bar serve eggs?”

“Eggs? Hmm, I’m sure Pony-chan can whip up something for you. Is there any kind that you wanted?” 

“Soft-boiled, please.”

“Understood. Pony-chan!” You call out. “A soft-boiled egg for V Bang, if you don’t mind!”

“On it!” is the response.

Just then, the door to the bar swings open. “Good evening, Bartender-san,” a voice calls out. “I’ll take a glass of wine. The usual.” A man of lanky stature with a head of gray hair, black at the tips walks down the steps. His choice of clothing is  _ odd _ , to put it nicely. V Bang’s eyes visibly narrow, but he doesn’t say anything.   


“Good evening, Frosty. Nice to see you here again.” You take out a wine glass and a bottle of Zinfandel from the shelf and pour the red liquid into the glass. “How’s everything going?”

“Nothing much happening. Got some new strings for my  _ shamisen _ finally,” he responds, taking a seat a bit further away.

“That’s good to hear. We would very much appreciate it if you wished to play here. Of course, with payment,” you reply, sliding the glass of wine to him with a wink. “Though with how frivolous the owner’s been recently, it might only amount to a free drink or two.”

“Offer appreciated,” he responds with a smile. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“But the  _ shamisen _ , huh. I watched a  _ kabuki _ performance recently and the  _ shamisen _ player was quite invigorating. It’s a shame that the fires took the theater underground, but it does make it more exciting to watch.”

“Indeed. I’ve accompanied a couple of performances, and the theater location changing is always a hassle. Not to mention the government’s pushed the theaters far up north in the city,” Frosty replies. “Though, it’s where we sometimes do our jobs, so I’m not that surprised. But I would like to see  _ kabuki _ be back on the streets here again.”

“I suppose if you worked for the government, you could change that.”

“In this mess?” he chortles. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

“Um, if you don’t mind me asking,” V Bang pipes up. “Er, how do you have the time to do music?”

Frosty turns to him and his gazes hardens a smudge. “What? I’m not sure what you do, but there’s always time for other things.”

“But what’s the point of doing something like that?”

Added fuel to the fire was that it sounded like a genuine question too.

“You wanna say that again? Music is an expression of the soul. You gotta have outlets like that if you wanna get anywhere in life,” he replies testily. “You’ll get worn down if you don’t.”

“But isn't that just a waste of time? You could be bettering yourself with all that time.”

While Frosty, like his nickname, may have a stoic and cold appearance on the outside, it didn’t take much to reveal the flaming, hotheaded personality that burned underneath.

In an effort to slow down things—

“That reminds me, Frosty has a similar position with the two of you, don’t you? Would you care to impart some of your senior advice onto them?”

“And why would I do that?” he grumbles. “I’ve already got enough to deal on my plate with my guys. ‘Sides, I’ve already said my fair share already.”

“Everything is bound to be forgotten here once you speak it, so is there harm in doing so?”

“You say that, but it’s not that easy to forget things,” he shoots back. “Rather, sometimes I think people remember what’s said even more.”

“Um, I’d like to hear what Frosty would like to say,” V Bang adds on.  _ Ever the studious one, _ you think. “I can pay for his drink too—”

“Oi, there’s no need to go that far.” Frosty holds up his hand and takes a sip of his drink in contemplation. “Bartender-san, are you trying to create more rivals for me?”

“Aren’t you a fan of the competition?” You shrug your shoulders. “Doesn’t hurt to throw in a couple words. They don’t even have to be that useful.”

He lets out a long exhale and leans slightly backwards. V Bang stares intensely at him, while Puddinghead seemed to barely be interested.

“Know your strengths and what your goal needs,” he finally says, albeit curtly. “That’s it.”

“Wonderful, marvelous,” you reply, clapping your hands.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“A soft-boiled egg for V Bang!” Akane calls out as she bursts through the doors of the kitchen with an egg placed inside a small bowl.

V Bang takes the plate and takes a large bite into the egg.  “Mm. I think this egg is lacking something,” he remarks while chewing. “It’s good though. Maybe try adding more salt next time. And cook it for a minute or so longer.”

“What’d you just say—” Akane next you bristles up, but you stop her in time.

“Our sincerest apologies,” you bow lightly. “But you seem to be quite well-versed in the art of cooking soft-boiled eggs?”

“Well, it’s something my grandfather did for me,” he replies. “‘Course I’d know how to make one.”

You smile at his words.

“That’s good to hear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're back! things have mostly settled down for now, hope you all didn't mind the wait. i've always thought of Kageyama as just a bit socially-awkward instead of how the fandom portrays him as a rude kid.
> 
> the latest chapter amount will 90% be the final one as it's more feasible (unfortunately i did have to take out one of the relationship tags). as always, let me know in the comments if there's any pairs you wanna see! the next couple chapters are gonna be featuring some veeery interesting situations, some just plain fun, some a bit more on the reflective side like this one was.
> 
> thanks for reading, and thanks for the 4k hits!


	22. let's party!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *i've decided to keep the prefecture names rather than use the province names to avoid any confusion (honestly at this point historical accuracy just Does Not Exist and it's not the main focus of this fic anyways), but tokyo will still be referred to as edo

Usually, Bar Eden doesn’t have a problem with noise levels. While there was no rule specifically stating patrons had to be quiet, it was one of those unspoken rules of a bar to not raise a complete ruckus, and most people followed that. There were only a couple of characters that ever toed this line, and they usually came in with quiet counterparts that could control them if things ever got too out of hand.

Of course, that doesn’t mean there weren’t any exceptions.

“Bartender-san! Can I seriously not know your name? I’ve been here for so long already, don’t I deserve a little special something?” 

“Hold on, back off on Bartender-san! I haven’t even seen your face in here before, what do you even think you’re saying? I’ve been here since the very beginning when the bar was still new!”

“What are you sayin’? I’m the very original Mr. Blondie, the first one to walk in here so I got the name!”

“That doesn’t mean you’re the first ever person! But wait, who was the first person to walk into this bar…”

“That would be somebody the two of you both are unfamiliar with,” you finally respond. “Mr. Blondie, unfortunately I won’t bend the bar’s policy even for the first blond person to walk in here.”

“Boo, you’re no fun!” The man sporting a blond undercut with a tuft of hair in front sticks his tongue at you. There's a brief flash of silver in his mouth. “This bar needs to have some more energy! It’s so quiet in here all the time!”

“We aren’t like a host club like you are. Besides, some people prefer the quiet. Like Blondie-chan over here.” You motion to the small girl sitting a couple seats away, her body tensed up and trembling in fear.

“Wait.”

The atmosphere in the bar drops a couple degrees at the word. Mr. Blondie looks at the girl with a questioning gaze and then back to you. Back to her, back to you.

“Bartender-san, how could you?” he suddenly exclaims, clutching his chest. “I’m supposed to be the only Blondie here! Doesn’t this get confusing if there’s two? I’ve been wholly betrayed!” Mr. Blondie slumps over the counter in mock tears. “Betrayed, I tell you! And here I was gonna offer a special discount for you if you ever came to my club!”

Mr. Blondie’s host club, Johzenji, a palace of gold and flashing lights, is situated in Yoshiwara, the center of entertainment and the red-light world of Edo. Hairdresser by day and host by night, his charming and sociable attitude attracted flocks of customers to him (though sometimes he could get pretty intense in his ways). The world of hosting is a dance between the host and the client, providing a haven of comfort and service not unlike a bar, and with how many there were in Yoshiwara, the competition between each club was fierce. In an effort to separate themselves from the crowd, Johzenji took on a more carefree and party-like approach rather than the refined elegance that other clubs championed.

The other man finally speaks up, his golden eyes sparkling at Blondie-chan. “Ooh, I didn’t even notice you there! Hello! I’m Mr. Owl!” he half-shouts. “Nice to meet you!”

“N-nice to meet you, M-Mr. Owl,” she stammers out. “Um, er, Bartender-san! I feel really bad that my nickname is, uh, the same as this person here. I wouldn’t mind changing it…”

“Don’t worry a thing, Blondie-chan. Your nickname technically has the -chan attached, and his has the mister in front. They’re two separate names, so there’s no need to change yours.”

“If you say so…” Blondie-chan replies, looking nervously at Mr. Blondie. His eyes open wide again and he slowly sits back up.

“Well, I guess I wouldn’t mind sharing a name with a cutie like you!” he beams. _What a major turnaround,_ you think. “Say, if you’re ever in need of some relaxation—”

“Mr. Blondie. Kindly refrain from promoting side businesses here please,” you cut in. “There’s not much of a point when the fourth rule exists.”

He scrunches up his face, deep in thought. “Then! Let's do a complete renovation of this bar from inside out!”

"Where did that line of thinking come from?"

"This atmosphere is too stuffy!" he declares loudly. "All dark and gloomy!"

“Ooh! I’m in with that idea! You gotta have a little fun in life!” Mr. Owl pipes up.

You let out a small sigh. "What would your plan be then?"

“First order of business! Pony-chan, you should show off some more—”

“ _ Oi, _ ” you interrupt him with a tight-lipped smile, while Akane next to you visibly stiffens. “Let’s not force Pony-chan to do anything she wouldn’t like, alright?”

“Hey, it wasn’t gonna be anything humiliating for the lady! Who do you think I am? Well, whatever. We first need to get some more flashy clothes in here! Everybody’s wearing their drab and dull colors, there’s nothing fun about that! All gloomy and depressing!”

You thoughts wander to the owner, currently traipsing around in some remote location. “I suppose that wouldn’t be a problem, things like that can be acquired.”

“Next up would be a complete revamp of the colors on the walls! You need something flashy, like bright gold! Get rid of this tan or beige or whatever!”

“Gold is a nice color! You can also add in some red too! A deep red… gives off really mysterious and cool vibes…” Mr. Owl closes his eyes in thought. “Or maybe a blue! Gold and blue go well together!”

“You two definitely want to change this to a host club, don’t you?”

“No, no, nothing of the sort! It’ll just make the bar in here pop a little more! Maybe add some of those chandelure—or was it chandelier? Make it all sparkly and bright!”

“No no no, you guys definitely want to change this place into a host club now.”

“I’m telling you, all these new bars out there are doin’ the same! You gotta keep up with the times now, else Bar Eden will fall behind too!” Mr. Blondie leans in closer. “It’s really not such a bad idea. Don't you wanna keep your customers coming here? They'll drop like flies!”

“Um, if you don’t mind!” Blondie-chan speaks up after finishing her mojito (she was now on her third and still holding on, something you’re duly impressed at). “While I do agree that the place could look more inviting, I don’t think it needs to go too overboard! For example, if you added some more decorations in here, like a plant or something, since… um… it’s called Bar Eden…” her voice trails off.

“A plant, huh…” You muse over her suggestion. “That might be a good idea. Thank you for being the only sane person in here.”

“Plants, huh?” Mr. Owl puts his hands on his hips, completely ignoring your snide remark. “If you got those jungle vine ones, we could use one to swing from the entrance to the seat! That would be pretty amazing!”

“Mr. Owl! You get it!” Mr. Blondie puffs out his chest and gives him a thumbs up “Or maybe you could replace the stairs with a water slide and use that special lotion to slide down!”

“Please keep that lotion in your district.”

“You guys are barely on the edge of it here, what’s the harm?”

“We’re trying to keep the story here PG-13.”

“My apologies!” Mr. Blondie gives a low bow, barely avoiding slamming his face onto the counter. “By the way, what’s the painting on that wall over there?” He motions to the scroll painting of a mountain in the corner, showing signs of aging on its surface. “It’s the only thing that can be considered a decoration in here.”

“Oh, that? Just a piece of junk from a long time ago. We’ve got no place else to put it.” Your metal fingers tap the counter. “But it’s a pretty peaceful scene. You know, since that’s what our bar’s atmosphere tries to give off.”

“I get it already!” Mr. Blondie pouts. “Just tryin’ to liven up the area, that’s all.”

“If you think about it, it’s the people that make this bar fun! If the bar itself was fun, that might be a bit overkill…” Mr. Owl muses. “This drab atmosphere is a nice balance!”

"We've put in a lot of time and effort to what you think is this drab atmosphere," you comment. "But I suppose one could see it as that too. Bar Eden serves as a container for all the personalities that walk in here. There's no need for us to fill it up, else there would be no space left for you guys."

Mr. Blondie ponders over your words. “I see, I guess that makes sense!" Though you're not sure if he really did get it. "But I still think the water slide is a good idea!”

“Rejected.”

“You’re no fun! At least a plant then, like Blondie-chan over here says!”

“If you can find a plant that grows well under low light conditions then I’ll gladly take it as an anonymous gift.”

“You got it!”

* * *

Some time later at Bar Eden, if one noticed closely, on the back shelf of the bar stood a potted plant with golden and green leaves just beginning to crawl down that the bartender and their barback made sure to take great care of.  When asked where they got the plant, they simply replied with “a secret” with a smile.

"But why this one, of all plants to get?" Akane asks, tilting her head.  


"They call that the money plant down south. It's also called 'Golden Pothos' in English."

"'Golden Pothos'? I see... he really does like golden things, huh..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> terushima makes his entrance (and i did actually forget that yachi's nickname was blondie already oops)! this was a pretty fun one to write, hope you guys liked it too! i feel like a broken record for saying thanks all the time, but thanks for the 200+ kudos!
> 
> coming up next: a much quieter bunch of people...


	23. silence speaks louder

“But you sure have it rough, handling the two of them. That goes for the both of you, actually.”

“I don’t particularly mind, our two have mellowed out over the past years.”

“That’s good to hear… I don’t think there’s a chance ours will. Some people change over the course of their years, but our two are probably pretty set on their mindset. I suppose it’s a strength of theirs, though.”

You’re listening to the conversation of Sleepyhead and Mr. Herbalist, who had arrived at the bar coincidentally at the same time. It took a bit for the two of them to warm up and start talking, but once it did, they found a number of similarities between each other.

“Aha, I understand you. My captain used to be a pretty introverted kid from what he said, but I don’t think you could see that at all from how he acts now,” Mr. Herbalist replies, taking a sip of his Sazerac—a simple cocktail made of rye whiskey and a glass rinsed with absinthe, a spirit derived from a multitude of plants.

“Introverted, huh…” Sleepyhead leans his face on his hand with a flushed look apparent on his cheeks. “In our world, the introverted types always seem to go unnoticed. People always remember the more flashy types, unless they’re really highly skilled.”

“I think the background characters also have their own merits though. Without us, for example, our groups would probably self-implode on themselves,” says Mr. Herbalist. “There’s a need for that sort of balance in life. The quiet is just as important as the loud.”

“That does make sense… I’ve pretty much resigned to my role now.” Sleepyhead leans slightly back in his stool, setting his Piña Colada on the counter. “It’s enjoyable watching everybody around me grow though. Who would’ve thought the problematic newcomers could develop into such crazy monsters?” A slight smile forms on his lips, nostalgia washed in his voice. “But, I don’t think I’ve done much growing myself compared to any of them.”

Mr. Herbalist gives a slight shake of his head. “I think you’ll find in yourself that you will grow as well. It might seem invisible to you right now, but not all flowers bloom early. Take the anemone, for example. Those are beautiful flowers that only bloom during the late summer or fall, but they have one of the longest blooming seasons.”

The younger man mulls over these words for a bit, absentmindedly tipping his glass around. “I guess I’ll take your word for it,” he finally says, straightening his posture. “Not like I have much else to go off of.”

“I appreciate it,” the herbalist replies, taking another sip of his cocktail. “Though I don’t view my words as particularly important.”

“I believe that isn’t true,” you finally interject. “You still hold an important position in your group, that can’t be overlooked. And you have the time to cultivate your own life despite how busy you are. I think that’s something many people aren’t able to do.”

The tanned man looks up at you, a note of surprise on his features. “I’m glad to hear that coming from you, though I don’t believe my gardening doesn’t quite negate what I do for work,” he says humbly.

“Well… some people live their lives thinking they’ll never be able to atone for what they’ve done, no matter how much they do.” Your metal index finger lightly taps the counter. “That’s really all up to yourself to decide.”

Mr. Herbalist hums in response, taking your words in with solemnity. 

“By the way, Bartender-san, what do you think about the concept of change?” Sleepyhead asks. “You see a lot of people come and go around here, don’t you?”

“Let’s see here…” you place your finger on your chin in thought. “I don’t think change comes around all that easily, honestly. The core values that people hold aren’t so easily swayed, especially over the course of a mere couple years. Even in a lifetime, some ideas don’t budge all that often.”

“A lifetime? But that’s a pretty long period of time.”

“Depends on your perspective. Fifty years’ worth of time would be nothing compared to one hundred, and that would be only a speck compared to a thousand.”

“But who lives to be a thousand years?” Sleepyhead asks, furrowing his brow. One hundred I could maybe understand some time in the future, but a thousand seems quite impossible.”

“It’s just for context’s sake,” you chuckle lightly. “But who knows? Maybe there’s some yokai floating around acting just like humans.”

“Speaking of yokai, our big boss does seem to act a bit… inhumane at times,” Mr. Herbalist ponders out loud. “Sometimes he has a look in his eye that makes me go cold all over. And he’s lived for well past his years, but he’s still quite spry. Though, that might just be baseless conjecture on my part.”

Nekoma’s head, who only went by the moniker Yasufumi and “Mr. Fumi” in the bar, was one of the very first people to enter Bar Eden as he was personally acquainted with the owner.

“Well… I won’t reject nor affirm your theory,” you say. “Though that idea does sound particularly interesting.”

In truth, Yasufumi was indeed a  _ nekomata _ , their true form being a cat with two tails and the power to produce spirit fire, born from domestic cats that have grown old. The old man was known to hold down his beer pretty well and played a mean game of mahjong.

“I wonder if any of ours are secretly yokai then…” Sleepyhead comments, finishing the last drop of his cocktail. “Or possibly some on our enemies’ side. Some of the things they accomplish seem to be humanly impossible.”

“Still, even if they were, you being able to keep up with them is also an impressive feat. Would you like another drink?” you ask, nodding your head to the glass. He gives you a word of affirmation and you start mixing up another Piña Colada.

“You praise me too much, Bartender-san,” he replies with an embarrassed chuckle. “I haven’t even done anything in my job that’s noteworthy or memorable.”

“One could argue that depends on perspective as well,” Mr. Herbalist points out. “But I suppose we’re just circling back to our previous point now.”

“Then how’s your work going, Mr. Herbalist?”

The man in question pauses for a bit as he drinks his cocktail. “Well enough. As it’s only my first year in the gardening world, I’m not expecting any highly-regarded results.”

Mr. Herbalist opened up a floral shop a couple of months ago in a quiet corner of Edo. Currently, the focus is on floral arrangements he learned from in Europe through books, though he mentioned eventually dabbling in bonsai trees as well.

“That so? I would love to buy some plants from you, but our bar is unfortunately windowless, as you can see,” you reply, gesturing to the walls of the bar. “We got lucky that this plant doesn’t need sunlight, else I’d feel somewhat bad for the gifter.”

“Plants are quite receptive to the care it receives,” he muses, studying the potted peace lily curiously. “I think that’s why I’m particularly drawn to the art of it.”

“My work environment wouldn’t be a good place at all for plants then,” Sleepyhead sighs good-naturedly. “Too many people running around like their heads are cut off. It wouldn’t even last for five minutes.”

Mr. Herbalist lets out a light laugh. “You and I both.”

* * *

“How did Yasufumi become acquainted with the owner, by the way?” Akane asks you during cleanup, dragging around the broom on the floor.

“Oh, you know. Mutual interest in each other’s business,” you reply casually, wiping away glasses.

Akane turns to look at you with a disgusted look on her face. “You mean, the owner was in the company of courtesans? I didn’t know he had that kind of interest.”

“Let’s see… actually, that might be the wrong person. The owner and Yasufumi were bitter rivals, you see. Forever locked in an eternal fight against each other, until the two finally realized their true—”

“Bartender-san, exactly where is this story going? You mean to tell me he’s actually interested like  _ that _ ?”

"Were you not aware? The owner doesn't particularly care about gender."

“And what is my dear Bartender-chan spouting off now?” the owner replies as he walks through the door to the bar, wearing his usual mishap of an outfit.

“Oh, long time no see. Welcome back,” you call out monotonously. "Just the truth and only the truth."

“Welcome back!” Akane echoes to a similar level.

“Is that really the type of greeting I deserve? You’ve become really rude to me now.”

“So you’re saying it’s the same situation as before then.”

The owner lets out a long huff as he spins down the stairs. “Whatever! I won’t tell you what I found this time around then!” He crosses his arms in a show of indignance, pettiness dripping in his tone. “It’ll be a secret!”

“You’re definitely going to tell me the next chapter though.”

“Stop spoiling!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing what these two would talk about was entirely too difficult, which was the reason for this delay, apologies about that.
> 
> next up: don't give up, kamchatka!


	24. kamchatka!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *this chapter mentions the events of chapter 16 in haikyuu-bu. readthrough not necessary but it would give some better context.

Tonight at Bar Eden, you got treated to a particularly amusing story.

“Getting stranded really wasn’t fun. All of us would’ve starved to death on that island had it not been for our boss’s connections,” Mr. Musclehead says. “He was the first one to break. We put him on a stake as ward against storms.”

According to the vice president of Aoba, their vacation up to Fukushima went awry when they got hit with a torrential storm at sea, marooning their boat on an uncharted island. As his boss was still too apprehensive about appearing in public (something about being completely bandaged up), Mr. Musclehead alone came into the bar.

“Wouldn’t that have been a fun sight to see,” you comment, smiling maybe a bit too wide. “Here’s your Camus Sidecar, Mr. Tailor.” 

The tailor gives his nod of thanks to you as he takes the glass. “If you don’t mind me, I think it’s kind of cool to get stranded in the wilderness. With only yourself and nature…” His brown eyes take on a faraway look, mostly likely imagining some rugged landscape. “Ah, but I’m not sure if I’d be able to do it.”

“That’s a situation where you can only rely on yourself, isn’t it? Yourself against the wild.”

“Exactly that.” He nods in agreement. “A true test of strength and courage… you can learn a lot about yourself in those sorts of situations, I think.”

Mr. Musclehead’s hand props up his cheek. “I guess I can see the appeal if you’re alone. But too many people there and it just becomes a mess,” he says. “Then you’ve got a whole bunch of others to look out for. Mr. Cream was looking at an old ball and thinking it was a cream puff.”

“You could always ditch them.”

He looks at you, equal parts shocked and exasperated. “You’re pretty heartless, aren’t you? Aren’t you supposed to be caring and all that?”

“All in jest,” you reply, brushing aside his comment. “That aside, if I got stranded with a certain couple of people, that might be a possible option. Like your boss. Or mine.”

“I’d have liked that too,” he grumbles, putting down his hand as he takes a sip from his whiskey. “But it was too much effort to get him off the stake to do that.”

Your eyebrow raises slightly at this, but you decide to not push any further. “How’d you get interested in the wilderness in the first place, Mr. Tailor?” you ask.

“I found a book with stories and pictures of someplace in Russia. Kamchatka, it’s called.” He cups his glass. “I’d like to go some day and see what it’s like… though it would be somewhat difficult to do.”

“Russia, huh… I’m only familiar with vodka from there, unfortunately,” you reply. “Legend has it that it was a monk that made the first recipe for the drink.”

Mr. Musclehead’s eyebrows furrow. “A monk? What was he trying to do?”

“It’s just a legend. Who knows, maybe he was trying to start a party? But back then they called it the  _ aqua vitae _ .” From the shelf behind you, you skim the rows and pick out a clear bottle, setting it down on the counter.

“Vodka used to have a pretty low alcohol concentration, but then people learned how to purify and distill it better,” you explain. They called it ‘burning wine’ or ‘bread wine’ but there’s also another version that has medicinal properties.”

“So it’s similar to  _ sake _ then?” Mr. Tailor notes.

“You could say that. As it’s not brewed in Japan yet, getting a bottle of this is quite rare. So if you ever go to Kamchatka one day, I’d appreciate a bottle,” you reply with a wink. 

The tailor chuckles lightly, placing a hand behind his neck. “I’ll see what I can do then. I won’t be able to promise much though.”

Akane comes out onto the scene. “Agedashi tofu for Mr. Musclehead!” she calls out, holding up a plate of the fried tofu. She sets it down in front of the man. “Please enjoy.”

Mr. Musclehead rubs his hands together in anticipation before picking up his chopsticks and taking a large bite. 

“Mm, I’ve missed this. We had grilled fish for two months straight on that island,” he says in between bites. “Used up just about all of our rations too.”

“Just grilled fish? Do none of you know how to forage?”

“We run a company here," Mr. Musclehead deadpans.

“But it’s a pretty useful skill. So that you don’t go out there and completely die.”

“Apologies for not knowing.” In a blink, the tofu on his plate is already half gone. “I’d keep that in mind for next time, but I really hope there isn’t a next.”

“Foraging…” Mr. Tailor mumbles under his breath. “I should keep that in mind…”

There’s a moment of silence that follows as the two busy themselves with their orders. After Mr. Tailor puts down his glass, you ask him how his work is going.

“Times are changing now. There’s a high demand for Western clothing now. You can see it in the  _ kimono _ patterns with how abstract everything’s becoming,” he remarks. “I hope my shop will do well in the future… I’m not all that comfortable with Western design...” 

“I hope so too,” you echo. “The owner would actually be sad to see your shop close down.”

A faint smile appears on his lips. “Hearing that makes me happy,” he says.

“How’d you get into that business?” Mr. Musclehead asks, nursing his glass of whiskey.

"It's a pretty uninteresting story," Mr. Tailor replies. He checks his watch.

"I'd love to tell you if you're interested, but it's also quite long and I have a meeting later today. Sorry, but I'll be taking my leave now. It was nice talking to you, Mr. Musclehead. Thank you, Bartender-san." The tailor bows at you and pays his tab. Without another word, he rises from his seat and exits the bar, leaving you, Mr. Musclehead, and a small group back in the booth, alone. The grandfather clock ticks just a smidge louder in the background.

"You two are pretty similar," you say breezily, reaching over to take the empty glass. "Though I guess you two have similar roles, so that's to be expected."

"In what way? I don't really see it," he replies, a look of confusion apparent on his face.

"Hmm... I don't really know if I can word it properly. It's like the two of you both have a quiet drive that pushes you forward, I suppose."

"Huh." Mr. Musclehead downs the last drop of whiskey. "I don't think I get it."

You smile.

"Don't mind me, then."

* * *

The owner comes out of his office just a couple minutes after Akane leaves.

“You were going to tell me something last time, weren’t you?” you say, hand on the metal handle, just about ready to head out.

“Hmm? Was I now?” he replies with a silky tone. “That’s a shame, I don’t think I remember that well.”

“Then I’m going to quit working here—”

“Wait. Did you really have to go that far? Where was the necessity in that?”

“How else am I supposed to get you to tell me then?”

The owner lets out a dramatic sigh. “Fine, fine. Your sword. I found it.”

Your finger lightly brushes over the railing. “And where was it?”

“Some old travelling market. Got it for a surprisingly good deal too. I don’t think that shopkeeper knew how much it was worth.”

There’s a tense silence that hangs in the air, letting you know there’s something more to this.

“But?” you prompt. “Even if he didn’t know how much it was worth, it’s not some cheap flimsy thing.”

Another pause. “Well—” he says tentatively. “There is some… trouble getting it out of the scabbard. I don’t know if it’s some ancient curse or just completely sealed shut. But it wouldn’t budge an inch.”

“Give it to me," you demand.

“And why is that?”

“I can unseal it.”

“No, that would be an impossible feat in your state.”

“How do you know?” you shoot back, gritting your teeth. “Doesn’t hurt to try.”

_ Because I can’t myself, _ is what he replies wordlessly. And it's an answer you didn’t want to face.

Your hand grips the door handle tightly, reminded once again of how weak a human body is.

“Keh. Whatever. Just get it unsealed. I don’t care how much you have to dock from my pay to do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for 5k hits! and sorry for cutting out some more chapters and a couple character tags... i think i want to just try and finish this with good quality rather than have a large quantity of chapters.
> 
> next up: the bartender gives dating advice?


	25. goetsudoushuu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is absolute crack.

“Bartender-san. You give out pretty good advice, right?”

“Well, that depends on who you’re asking, but I think my advice is pretty helpful, why?”

“Bartender-san… us three are in a big pinch with something.”

“Mm. It’s really troublesome and we don’t know what to do.”

“Agreed. If we don’t do something about it…”

“...who knows what sort of horrors…”

“...not to mention how many sneaky and shady people there are in Edo…”

“Alright alright, what’s gotten all three of you worried like this?” you interject, while wiping a glass. 

The three of them give each other a wordless glance, sparks of electricity flowing through. In one single motion, they nod in unison, apparently having come to a conclusion.

“Bartender-san—”

“—how do you—”

“— **ask a woman out?!** ”

You look at the three men in front of you in silence—Mr. Thunder, Buddha, and the newest addition to their duo, Mohawk. If somebody were to listen closely, they would be able to hear the sound of a temple bell ringing in the distance.

“You guys…” you begin with a sigh. _In what direction should I take this?_ you wonder briefly. Akane raises an eyebrow at you, expectantly waiting for your answer.

“What you all are about to witness is the centuries of knowledge cultivated by this bar. Listen carefully and listen closely.” The three men shift forward some more, drinking up your every word.

“I will now bequeath to you all, the Bar Eden-style: Three Deadly Flourish!” you grandly declare, spreading out your arms.

Akane massages her forehead out of frustration at this. The three men stare at you with a mixture of shock and bewilderment on their faces.

“Er—”

“—what does that mean?”

“it sounds pretty cool though…”

“I’m glad you asked. With the Three Deadly Flourish, asking out somebody you’re attracted to is condensed into three simple steps,” you explain. “Works like a charm every time. Now, Pony-chan here will be our model—”

“—please don’t rope me into this—”

“—I’ll get the owner to pay you extra this week—”

“—I’ll hold you to that then.”

“ _Ahem_ ,” you clear your throat. “Anyways. As I was saying, the first step is all about your appearance.”

“Appearance?” the three of them ask in unison.

You nod your head. “Obviously, the first thing you notice about a person you meet is their appearance, right? It’s absolutely important to give off a trustworthy look. While people say to not judge others by their appearance, we are unfortunately still not at the stage where that can happen. Our style divides these into two categories: acceptable and not.”

Mr. Thunder nods his head slowly. “I think my blond streak gives me a wild look! Is that OK?”

“Of course. It adds character to you.”

“And my shaved head?

“Same idea.”

“What’s considered as something bad then?” Buddha asks. 

“It’s all about finding a balance in your look. All three of your hairstyles work out, but what about the rest of yourselves? I bet you all don’t think much about your clothes, don’t you?”

“Uh—” at this, the three of them squirm in their seats.

“Wait! But I have shirts with those four-word idioms on them! Doesn’t that show character?” Mr. Thunder says, and the men next to him nod in agreement. “I put a lot of thought into deciding which ones I should get!”

“Those shirts are nice and all, but it’s important to not show off _too_ much of your character. You wouldn’t want to overwhelm the object of your affections immediately at first glance now, wouldn’t you?” you point out. “You give them a little taste, and see whether they like it or not.”

“But what if they don’t like the taste?” Mohawk asks.

“Good question. Don’t bother with them!” you beam.

“That’s not very helpful…”

“But, you have to think about it like this. Rather than being down about it, think that they don’t deserve your attention if they don’t like you.”

“But what if the woman’s a goddess?”

Your smile twitches. “Good luck!”

“That is definitely not helpful at all! Bartender-san, I’m begging you! Help us out here!”

“OK OK,” you reply, holding up your hands in surrender. “Then here’s step number 2. This one’s about confidence!"

“Confidence?” The three of them again tilt their heads in unison. 

“I think we have a lot of that,” Mr. Thunder’s the first to speak. “I know I do! My job as the vanguard is always to have my group’s backs! A trueborn warrior!”

“Ooh, Mr. Thunder cool!” Buddha croons. “Me as well! I’m pretty awesome!”

“I have willpower and determination!” the third man declares with his chest puffed out. “That’ll get me through most things! Emphasis on most!”

“That’s good and all, but…” you gesture to Akane. “Let’s put it to the test then, shall we? Ask out Akane on a date. Akane is free to respond however as she wishes. Confidence here is knowing that you stand on equal grounds with the person you want to ask out. Most people are scared when they do, because they fear rejection. It’s not really about the line itself that you use. The point is to get _over_ this fear of rejection. And since all of you are confident, this shouldn't be a problem at all, no?” 

“Um, wait—” Mohawk raises his hand, his eyes trying hard to avoid looking at Akane. “Er, uh…”

You blink.

You hadn’t considered this.

“You’re free to ask me then,” you say, not wanting to give your poor barback a traumatizing experience, even if they were technically strangers in the bar. “I will be operating under the same rules. So! Who wants to go first!”

“I’ll go!” Buddha booms. “A man has to keep things simple and easy! Pony-chan!” he bellows out, and you wince slightly at how loud it is.

“Will you marry me?”

“Absolutely not!”

He puts his hand to his heart. “Hold on a second… why does this hurt so much…”

“Buddha, what kind of a question was that?” Mr. Thunder lets out a loud laugh, doubling over as he slaps the back of the man. “That’s definitely way too simple! Here, let me show you!”

He turns to face Akane, all the mirth dissipated from his face, replaced by a look of what you think is his attempt to look seductive.

“Pony-chan,” he begins, deepening his voice. “I’ve loved you for a long time now. Will you marry me?”

“Absolutely not!”

Mr. Thunder also goes down in shock.

“ _Oi_ ,” you cut in, not able to take any of this anymore. “Where was the difference in that? Adding an _I love you_ in front of it doesn’t work! Drop the proposal question first!”

There was going to be a lot more work put into this than you had wanted to do so, you’re now realizing. You let out a small sigh.

“Understood! What do we do then, Bartender-sensei!” They immediately snap to attention. 

“ _San_ is just fine. I guess confidence really isn’t an issue for you guys… The two of you were right in that you should keep things simple, but marriage isn’t something you drop out of the blue! And especially if your goal is to ask her out on a date, why did you propose?” You cross your arms. “If you’ve been doing it like this all the time, that’s why you’ve been rejected. Just ask them out to someplace normal.”

“Ah, I see…” The two of them mumble. You turn to the third one, who hasn’t talked at all.

“Mohawk. Give it a try on me,” you say. He visibly stiffens at this, then closes his eyes, as if doing a self-hype routine, chanting some words you can’t quite catch underneath his breath.

“Bartender-san!” He suddenly opens his eyes wide, shocking you just a bit. “Um, I really like you! Would you like to go out for some tea to talk!”

You give him a warm smile. “See? That’s a good way to do it,” you say.

“But…” the other two furrow their eyebrows. “Isn’t that kind of plain? And what if they say no to that, too?”

“That’s where the confidence part comes in. You have to accept them saying no, but know that a no is just that. Respect their boundaries. There are plenty of people out there after all.”

“Bartender-san… I’ve been thinking about this for a while now… but aren’t you just really teaching us how to handle rejection?”

“OK! The third concept! Forget everything that I just said!”

The three of them drop their mouths wide open.

“ _What?_ ” they gasp in utter bewilderment. “Then what was the point of the other two then?”

“Just be yourself,” you say with a shrug. “You don’t really need all of what I just said. Though they can be useful to remember. Didn't I say already? You'll still be fine even if you're rejected.”

There's a long stretch of silence as the three of them think over this as the creases around their eyes deepen further with every passing second.

“Bartender-san… your advice isn’t actually that great—”

“The three of you should be getting home by now, shouldn’t you?” you interrupt the statement with a clap of your hands. “It’s getting late now.”

“It’s only 9—”

“ _It’s getting late now_ ,” you repeat firmly. They give each other some looks of confusion and shrug.

“Erm, OK then. Thanks for the drinks! We’ll keep what you said in mind… I guess?” They take a stand. "We will... keep your teachings to heart!"

"Good luck out there!"

* * *

“Bartender-san. What did the last step of the Bar Eden Three Deadly Flourish-or-whatever actually mean?” Akane asks you, her round eyes wide with curiosity.

You let out a loud laugh. “As if I know! I made that whole thing up on the spot!”

She furrows her brows. “Then, why’d you tell them all of that?”

“What’s the harm in not?” You shrug. “Makes things more interesting.”

Akane groans in exasperation. “Your personality is actually kind of shitty, isn’t it?”

“I’m hurt!” You draw your hand towards your chest in shock, stumbling around in an exaggerated fashion. “Akane-chan, how could you wound me so?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” The perpetrator rolls her eyes as she goes back to her cleanup duties. You regain your balance in an instant.

“But, I think stuff like how to ask someone out, or what falling in love is… That’s something that can only be learned by yourself, through trial and error. Love comes in many different forms, after all. It’s different for everyone.”

She gives you a glance. “Really?”

“Of course. But I’d also like to think that there’s some truth in the things I told them. It’s just up to those three to decide how they want to use it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> goetsudoushuu: rivals finding themselves together by chance (also one of the manga chapter titles)
> 
> //we're alive! or at least halfway so. here's a somewhat lengthier chapter for the absence. i decided to drop mr. thunder's tic of using four-word idioms because searching those up is a bit too tiring.
> 
> next up: a mishmash of a trio talks about food...


	26. investigation underway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i decided to switch this chapter with the previously planned one since i wanted to write this one a bit more. note that there will be extensive talk of death and other related topics.

There’s a full moon tonight.

Somebody’s walking across a bridge, dressed in an outlandish outfit. On their head is an oversized hat with gold accents that glint coldly underneath the moonlight. From behind is a thin veil that trails down to their knees. Two tassels adorn the sides, swaying as they walk. Their cowboy boots click dully against the wooden planks.

“Hey. You there, with the funny-looking hat,” a man’s voice calls out. “Would you stop for a minute?”

The person stills. The man walks over to them, revealing their pale face and a mass of coral hair lit up by the moon. “This is pretty gaudy-looking, don’t you have any taste in fashion?”

There’s no response. With a quizzical look—”Um. Excuse me? Anybody there? I’m asking you to answer me.”

Again, no response. The man’s face scrunches up in anger. “Oi. You nimwit. Are you gonna answer me or not? Else—you’ve crossed the wrong person, buddy.”

“I find my taste in fashion to be exquisite,” the person finally says, adjusting their hat. It’s a much silkier and smoother voice than expected, but it carries a coldness rivalling the moon.

The man clicks his tongue in annoyance. “You’re a pretty rich one, aren’t ya? Spending it all away on whatever this shit is.”

“And what if I am?” comes the reply. “I don’t see a reason not to. This is what I make, after all.”

Eyes widening, the man gives a devilish grin. “That so? Hearing that kind of pisses me off. Would you like to be the tester of something new and fancy then?” With his thumb, he pushes up the hilt of his blade by his side. “I promise, the quality of it is unparalleled to anything you’ve owned.”

And before the mysterious person can respond—

_Sching._

The blade flies by in an arc as the man charges forward. He sheathes his blade as quickly as he drew it with a satisfied smile on his lips. Everything’s eerily quiet again.

Except—

“Why—why aren’t you dead?” 

The attempted killer’s eyes widened upon turning around, realizing it had been _too_ silent. He’s greeted with the person still standing straight-backed with not even any labored breathing.

“I wonder myself,” they say. Without another word, they walk across the bridge, heels clicking on the wood. The man can only watch as they fade into the distance.

* * *

  
  
  


“So that’s what happened last night,” Mr. Crew Cut says, taking a sip from his Rusty Nail. “By the time we were able to get to the scene, there was no trace of the strangely-dressed person or the man with light red hair.”

“That sounds pretty troublesome,” you muse, wiping a glass. “You also now have quite the restricted freedom now compared to before, don’t you?”

He nods. “There’s definitely some things that I want to do but I can’t, but I don’t regret this decision.”

Mr. Crew Cut recently made the transition to working in the police force rather than being a vigilante, resigning his position as the senior brother in the Karasuno group. He now carries around a _jutte_ rather than a sword on the streets, but the effect was still just as menacing.

“That’s good to hear then." You set down the glass and put it aside. “This new job fits you well, I think.”

“Really?” He chuckles, raising his hand to the back of his head. “I guess my previous work was pretty similar, so carrying what I learned from there to now wasn’t all that hard. You said I have restricted freedom now, but living in the shadows can get pretty tough sometimes too.”

You hum in response. “I see… I suppose I haven’t really considered that, given the types of people we serve here.”

As if on cue, somebody enters the bar. “Yo, Bartender-san. It’s been a while.” Mr. Eyebrows raises his hand with his signature neutral expression on his face.

“Mr. Eyebrows, good to see you." You raise a hand back in greeting. "A neat Hibiki, right?”

“Oh, you really did remember.” He walks down the steps and takes a seat one away from Mr. Crew Cut, setting his hands underneath his chin as his elbows are propped up on the counter. “I’m surprised.”

“It’s just my job to do so,” you say, while scanning for the bottle of whiskey, located near the middle row of the back shelf.

“But if one of the rules is to forget about everything said in the bar, wouldn’t that apply to what drinks we have too?” Mr. Eyebrows asks, lifting an eyebrow.

For the briefest of moments, your hands pause before pouring out the drink into a tumbler glass. “Well, exceptions can be made,” you say, filling the glass close to brim. “And here you go. Hibiki, neat.”

“Is that so,” he says, taking a long sip. The glass is set down with a bit of force. “Not bad for a long day.”

“Oh, did something happen today?”

“Nothing special in particular.” A short sigh is tacked on at the end. “We’re always busier around this time of year.”

Mr. Eyebrows is also somebody who made a transition of jobs, though his was a much more drastic change.

“That’s true…” A slight shiver runs down your body. “It’s getting colder and colder out nowadays. You guys should make sure to stay warm. We offer hot drinks too. Warm _sake_ ’s also an exception to the rule.”   
  
“I appreciate it a lot,” Mr. Crew Cut says with a grin.

“You guys have a lot of exceptions, don’t you?” Mr. Eyebrows points out. “Feels like there isn’t a point to the rules.”

“I’ve only listed two so far. Is it really that much?”

He shrugs. “Sometimes one’s already a lot, isn’t it?”

“Well, that’s something for us to decide.” With a smile, you cut off that conversation point. “Mr. Crew Cut over here was just telling me about an interesting work story. Have you had any memorable experiences with your job yet? It’s been some time since you’ve started now, hasn’t it?”

“Hm… Nothing really comes to mind right now.” Mr. Eyebrows takes another drink of his whiskey. “All the new ones coming in right now are kind of gruesome to look at. But with all the new accessories and fancier processions people want on them, you can’t tell.”

“Gruesome?” Mr. Crew Cut queries, drink paused at his lips. “That doesn’t sound very good.”

“With all of the _tsujigiri_ incidents recently, it’s not a very pleasant sight to see,” he explains, though his tone stays completely flat. “Another reason why we’re pretty busy right now.”

“ _Tsujigiri,_ huh…” You don’t miss Mr. Crew Cut’s hand gripping his glass just a bit tighter. “A pointless practice, honestly. What good will it do?”

Mr. Eyebrows perks up at this. “Why’s that?”

“Isn’t it obvious? There’s no honor or merit in any of it. It’s just people running around testing their blades.”

“Why’s any of that important?” There’s an underlying tension in Mr. Eyebrows’ casual tone. “Is it necessary to have honor in death?”

“If you lead an honorable life, is an honorable death not also important?” Mr. Crew Cut closes his eyes. “There was no need to kill those people in such a way. They didn’t deserve it.”

Mr. Eyebrows shrugs. “It’s not like you can really pick and choose how you want to die though.”

“Are you saying indiscriminate killing is an acceptable way then?” With a clenched jaw, Mr. Crew Cut tries to keep himself steady. “That it’s alright to let that go?”

“But it’s not like the victims were free from sin too, weren’t they?” says Mr. Eyebrows, raising his glass to his lips. “Weren’t most of them related to government corruption?”

“That doesn’t excuse it. There’s proper ways to deal with criminals. It’s why the whole law system exists. Just killing them off won’t do anything.”

“Is that so.” A note of disappointment fills Mr. Eyebrows’ voice. “Personally, I don’t think they’re doing all that good of a job.”

“Then go and change it." Mr. Crew Cut leans his cheek on his hand. "Uproot the system if you don't like it.”

“You make it sound easy to do. Change doesn’t come so easily."

"That might be true, but some of those people have families who are completely unrelated as well." His tone dips ever-so-slightly.

Mr. Eyebrows pauses, mulling over the words. "This is rich coming from somebody like you," he finally says.

"It's because I'm doing my work now that I can say this."

"Then the same goes for me."

A moment of silence settles in the bar, the air ripe with tension. You let out a small cough and speak up. “So, nice weather we’re having.”  
  
“Bartender-san!” Mr. Crew Cut sighs exasperatedly, completely dissolving the atmosphere. “Are you sure you’re supposed to say that there? In the first place, didn’t we already go over the weather just a couple minutes ago?”

“But what else do you want me to say?”

“Hearing your opinion on this would be nice,” Mr. Eyebrows cuts in. “Don’t you always do that?”

“But—” your head tilts to the side in thought. “Actually, I think I’m going to pass on that tonight.”

“Really? Why?"

“You’re persistent, aren’t you? I have my own reasons,” you reply, trying to skate over the topic. “Would you like your glass filled up again?”

The rest of the night passes by like the usual, though the question pricks at the back of your mind.

* * *

  
  


“It’s you and your partner, isn’t it?”

Mr. Crew Cut doesn’t look at the person next to him, instead choosing to focus on the dark alleyway in front of him with not a single person in sight.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Mr. Eyebrows replies plainly. “Don’t we promise to forget everything that happens in the bar?”

“As if anybody can,” Mr. Crew Cut snorts. “Unless you get so drunk in there and your memory’s bad.”

The corner of Mr. Eyebrows’ mouth quirks up. “Guess that’s true. But don’t we all pretend to forget for the sake of them?”

A chuckle escapes from Mr. Crew Cut as he starts walking. “You have a point there. It’s not really like I can use what happened as evidence in there, anyways.”

Mr. Eyebrows hums in response. “You’re not as bad of a person than I thought.”

A smile appears on Mr. Crew Cut’s face. “That so? Rest assured if I do ever catch him, the arrest will be on sight.”

“As if that'll happen.” A similar smile graces Mr. Eyebrows’ lips. “I’ll take you up on the challenge.”

* * *

“So that’s what happened last night. That was you, wasn’t it?”

“Who knows.”

The owner and you are alone in the bar after closing hours, Akane having left just a couple minutes ago.

“Did you get hurt?” you ask, taking off your gloves and flexing your hands. “Didn’t see you here on that day.”

“My pinky got injured. I took the day off.”

“What kind of reason is that?”

The owner pouts exaggeratedly. “I can’t work with an injured pinky now, can I?” 

“As if you do any work around here. Well, whatever.” You lean back against the counter, looking at the numerous bottles of alcohol lining the shelves. “Hey. What’d you think about the whole conversation those two were having?”

He adjusts his hat, today one with a feather attached at the side. “I’m not sure if I’m qualified to speak on that matter, like you said.”

“You think so too? It’s been so long since then.” Unconsciously, the fingers of your metal hand drum the counter. “I go for years and years without thinking about it.”

“With how famous we were, we can’t really forget about it completely now, can we?” the owner says, walking up the steps. He stops right in front of the door. “Humans have always found new ways to record things.”

“We’re a part of them now too,” you remind him, pushing yourself up from the counter. “After all this time, I think we’ve done pretty well blending in. Actually, I think it’d be more of a surprise if we didn’t.”

He laughs. It’s a bit louder than normal. “I suppose that’s true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> over 6k! sorry for leaving you all waiting for this long... this one's my present to you (though it's kind of dark). concerning the changing chapter count again, i want to get to the "final arc" of this fic and releasing chapters won't be as much as a drag to do so then. with that being said, we're closing out on the group conversations with this chapter and finally getting to the tags + the summaries will be in use again (and perhaps... the true identities of you and the owner). thank you for reading!


	27. a runaway's pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...but what merit does he have?

“Good evening, Bartender-san. Can I get a cup of _sake_?”

Your head lifts up upon the entrance of Sleepyhead, walking down the steps. He’s wearing a casual set of clothes—dark slacks and a tanned button-down, a black jacket slung over his shoulders, the remnants of sweat still on his forehead. His hair looks like it hasn't seen a pair of scissors for a bit, with his bangs just touching his eyebrows.

“Welcome. Of course, it’ll be ready in just a bit.” Taking the weathered _tokkuri_ off the shelf and a cup from below the counter, you pour out the clear drink as he takes a seat. 

“So? To what do I owe the pleasure of you visiting?” you ask as you slide the cup over to him. Sleepyhead takes a slow sip, savoring the taste with closed eyes.

“Not much, honestly. Recently, I got promoted,” he begins, setting down the cup. “The senior members of the group all left, so now it’s our turn to fill their shoes.”

“Congratulations. You deserve it.”

“You think?” A small smile forms on his face. “Everybody says the same thing too. I’m the only one able to take care of the rowdy ones, so I’m the one most suited for the position.”

“That’s a pretty good quality to have though, isn’t it?” You faintly recall the particular episode from some time ago. “Some days I feel like I’m just barely getting by with them. And I only deal with them for a couple hours each week.”

“Wow, wasn’t expecting to hear that from somebody like you. I guess even you have your limits?”

“But of course. I’m only human, after all.”

Sleepyhead leans his cheek against the palm of his hand as he takes another sip. “But… To tell you the truth, I still have some doubts about it myself.”

“Why is that?”

There’s a moment of silence that follows before he answers.

“I… ran away once. Last year.”

“Now that you mention it, you didn’t come here at all for a good period of time after your first visit,” you recall. “Was that why?”

He nods. “The _oyabun_ back then was pretty strict on us. Training was really rough everyday, and at some point I couldn’t take it anymore.” Sleepyhead takes another sip. “So then I stopped going, along with some others.

“It was nice to be relieved from my duties. We weren’t that big of an organization and manpower was pretty small, so I wasn’t chased by anybody to go back. I could just live a normal life and enjoy it.” He tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling. “And that was fine.”

“But then you came back.”

“I just felt…” his voice trails off as he collects his thoughts. “Well, I guess I realized I liked the whole thing a lot more than I expected. I needed to do _something_ with my life. Sitting around at home all day wasn’t getting me anywhere.”

You stay silent.

“And it’s the next part that hurts me the most. Usually there’s some form of punishment if you leave, either a pinky cut off or something more, right? But—” Sleepyhead’s eyes drop, staring back into his cup. Something like anguish forms in those dark pools. “I didn’t get anything, not even a slap of the wrist. Just got told to start running. Get back to everything, like nothing happened in the first place.

“The _oyabun_ got hospitalized. So there wasn’t really anyone to admonish me. Everything we did was easier again, but I didn’t like that. Even now, it still doesn’t feel like I got to atone for what I did.

“Every single one of them said I was most fit for the position. That because I ran, and _came back_ too, I should be the one to do it.” Sleepyhead lets out a long sigh. “I’ve more or less accepted the fact, but some days, it still feels like—”

The next words don’t come out. He bites his lip instead as his shoulders sag.

“You don’t deserve it?” you offer in his silence. 

“I know there’s still room for me to grow,” he replies. “Comparing myself to the previous head is useless, because we’re different people. But sometimes I just can’t shake off that feeling, no matter how many times I tell myself it won’t get me anywhere.”

Sleepyhead finally turns his attention to you. Underneath the dim light of the bar, his eyes are unfocused, looking both at you and something further away.

“I don’t think somebody can ever really feel like they’ve atoned,” you begin, the words an old familiarity on your tongue. “No matter how much they do or how long they repent. In the first place, it’s not like there’s some sort of marker for it. Do this much and you’re good. The gods come down and tell you, _that’s enough_. Maybe some people on the outside can judge, but it’s not like there’s ever a set boundary.”

“Would be a bit easier if there was," he quips.

“Sure would.” You offer a slight smile. “But things like atonement is what we personally decide to do, isn’t it? Though in some cases, you might be forced to do so, ultimately choosing to repent is your own decision. So really, the only person who gets to decide whether you’ve done enough is yourself. Realizing your mistake, living with it, and trying to better yourself from it.

And it’s not a linear path at all. You will fail again. Make more mistakes, countless more in your life.”

A flash of red surfaces in the back of your thoughts. You hurriedly wipe it away.

_Not right now._

“That sounds pretty troublesome.” A low chuckle slips out. “Almost like, what’s the point of it all if we’re just going to drop one day?”

“I think that’s something for you to find the answer to, not for a random bartender to tell,” you say. With a gesture, you motion to his empty cup. “Want that filled up?”

He nods, pushing the cup forward.

An idea pops into your mind.

“Actually, I’ll do this just for you.” From behind the counter, you get out another _sake_ cup and set it onto the counter.

Sleepyhead catches onto what you’re about to do. “Bartender-san, there’s really no need to do so,” he stammers, pushing out his hands. 

“Why not? Let Bar Eden also be a part of your celebration for being promoted.” You fill his cup first to the brim, then yours.

“But aren’t bartenders not supposed to drink on the job?”

You shrug. “One drink’s not enough to topple me over, don’t worry. This one’s on the house. A toast to Sleepy… er, wait a second.” Your brows furrow. “That name doesn’t fit anymore, does it?”

Then it hits you.

“A toast to you, Captain, for getting your promotion! Cheers!” You clink his cup with yours, and down the drink. The liquid is something you haven't indulged in for a period of time you're not even sure how long anymore, but it slides down your throat all the same.

The man at the stool does the same, and lets out a satisfied sigh once he finishes his. “But what’s Captain? Is that… English?”

“Captain is another word for leader, or commander. You’re reborn now, aren’t you?” you say with a grin.

He returns the grin with a determined look in his eyes, the first of the night.

“Yeah, I am. Thanks for the drink, Bartender-san.”

“Go out there and get ‘em good, Captain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> starting this off with ennoshita! if you can't tell already, yes i do love him a lot. i have absolutely no idea how the ordering of these next ones will go, so won't reveal who's next. some of these characters will be a bit more reflective of the AU/pseudo-Edo period at large. also will be shaking up the POV in a couple. as always, thanks for reading and comments are greatly appreciated :)


	28. true strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...but what is strength, if it’s forever surpassable?
> 
> what does it mean to run, when everything catches up to you in the end?

He never feels like it’s enough.

These days, the feeling creeps up onto him even more so, because there’s always more to do. 

It’s not like him to believe in gods. Never thought they existed in the first place. If a god ever descended upon this earth one day, he’s not sure how he’d react. 

Many people wonder what he thinks about from a day-to-day basis. He’s not one to talk much, after all. Using words as his weapons has never suited somebody like him. He much rather prefers the swing of the blade or the crack of a barrel. 

That was the man Ushijima Wakatoshi has come to be defined as today. Feared by many, likened to a soaring eagle.  _ Ushiwaka _ , they often called him with breaths stolen away either through reverence or terror, possibly both. Like Minamoto-no-Yoshitsune reincarnated, except without the brotherly betrayal.

(Not that he had one to begin with.)

Hardly anybody betrays the Shiratorizawa clan in the first place; you’d have to have your brains incapacitated and then some to do that. Their strength is something that ripples throughout the countryside, flying across the grassy plains, carried by the currents of the rivers, whistling upon the winds to every soul in sight. A hand dipped in just about every scene. Rumors float around that with just a flick of wrist, Ushijima can topple down empires and end nations.

Whether there’s truth in that, he hasn’t exactly tested them out. It’s not something he’s quite interested in either, unlike a certain brown-haired man.

But the countryside extends only so far. Once you go down further enough, the grassy plains turn into buildings, the river currents muddy into a color not at all pleasing to the eye, the winds transform into the eternal noise and calls of people, busying themselves with all sorts of livelihoods. Maybe if you’re lucky enough to cross the ocean, you’re greeted with all of that on a much larger scale, depending on how far you go.

And suddenly, the vast expanse of a countryside becomes just a tiny speck in the grander scheme of things. 

Here, in the bustling city of Edo, everything has strength. Owls, snakes, cats, and other creatures prowl around, each with their own forms of what’s strong and what’s not.

And of course, crows. Picking at the carcasses of anything left behind, scavenging the dirty streets for just  _ one more drop _ , be it bread or water. 

He’s lucky that his name holds just a bit more power than normal. Else his name would’ve shrivelled up like a withered flower, never to bloom again. That when he arrives back home, it’s always his opponents’ blood stained on his clothes. Strong, not just physically either. Ushijima can always live to see another day—both his body and soul.

He used to think that nothing could possibly bloom from cold concrete. When there’s nothing that can act as nourishment or care, nothing will grow from it. That was how he was brought up, learning to bear the harsh winds of winter with all he needs at his disposal. If you train diligently under prestige, it’s natural your results will be the same.

But, as he learns like a gust that comes out of nowhere, life will always find a way to grow.

He never feels like it’s enough. These days, the feeling creeps up onto him even more so, because there’s always more to do. 

Ushijima’s walking to a particular destination as the night starts to fall over the city. A man of his calibre is usually not seen walking amongst drunkards, all trying to find a bit of solace before dawn comes again. Kabukicho, a pleasure district where the tendrils of smoke coming from the pipes of the  _ geisha _ are enough to lure in many, is the last place on earth he’d be spotted in.

Still, there’s a reason why he comes here. After walking through a crowd of people wobbling around and bumping into a good couple shoulders (some who try to pick a fight with him but sober up upon meeting the look in his eye), navigating a couple twists and turns in alleyways too dark to make out distinct outlines of objects in and pushing open a heavy door—

“Oh, welcome, Mr. Olive,” the bartender calls out. To his luck, nobody else is here today. “What would you like for tonight?”

It’s here, underneath the dim light where he’s only referred to by a simple color, that he’s taken to indulging in for just a night. 

So what does he think about?

“Some of your sake please,” Ushijima replies, taking his usual spot at the far end of the counter. 

“Understood.” Without another word, you start preparing the drink. He sits there in silence as he watches you pour out the clear liquid with a practiced hand.

The bartender slides the wooden cup to him. “What brings you here tonight?”

Tendou has always found the bartender a bit  _ strange _ . They had the youthful appearance of a human, he said, but their mind seemed to be closed off with a wall of the hardest iron. 

Frankly, Ushijima doesn’t care. Not because he thinks the bartender’s not somebody worth his time, but it’s just not one of his priorities. They’re just a bartender doing their job, plain and simple.

He takes a short sip before answering. “Many things have been… unusual lately for me,” he starts. “I am still trying to make sense of it all.”

The irrational, the illogical. Ushijima’s brain can’t understand such factors, not when he’s learned that what you put in is what you’ll get. Strength is all he needs, along with the luck he’s received from over the years.

“Times are changing now, aren’t they?” The bartender leans a finger to their chin, asking the question to nobody in particular. “I still remember when fighting was done with only your fist or your blade. None of these pistols or muskets or whatever are in right now.”

He blinks. “Weren’t guns used by Oda Nobunaga centuries ago?”

They freeze in place for a millisecond. “Ah, that so?” A chuckle slips from their lips. “Well, with the lockdown of the nation, I don’t think I’ve seen one around all that often. Anyways, that’s beside the point. Would you like to talk about one of the things troubling you recently?"

Ushijima lifts his  _ sake  _ cup, watching the clear liquid swirl around. “I’m not sure how to begin,” he admits with a small frown. “I find it a bit… difficult to put into words the conflicts I’m facing.”

Strength is all he needs, and yet he was still taken down.

_ From concrete, no less. _

The bartender places a finger to their chin in thought. “If that’s the case, how about I tell you about a poem I’m quite fond of?”

He nods, almost imperceptibly so, as a sign for them to continue.

“It’s one by Izumi Shikibu.” They clear their throat briefly. “ _ Although the wind / Blows terribly here / the moonlight also leaks / between the roof planks / of this ruined house. _ ”

After a prolonged silence, he takes a quiet sip. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of her before.”

“She can’t be from that long ago—” With a short sigh, the bartender shakes their head. “But that’s not what’s important here. I tend to think about that poem whenever I’m going through a troublesome patch.”

“Could you explain some more?”

“Er, how do I put this… Everybody’s free to have their differing interpretations of the poem, but in my case, I like to think of it as even when there’s trouble, there’s always something to look for. Whether it be something as simple and common as the moonlight. It might not be the answer you want, but such an existence can provide a sort of comfort.”

Ushijima furrows his brows.

If you asked him  _ what do you live for _ ? For his duty, to see his gift that was protected by his father to the very last breath, for just being able to swing his sword one more time, all of these he’d use in a heartbeat. He’ll live for the sword and die by it. No questions necessary.

If you asked him  _ why do you live _ ? 

He’s not sure if he can answer.

His fingers curl around his cup, now left with a couple drops sitting at the bottom. Just barely, he can make out the reflection of his eye in the liquid. While Ushijima certainly hasn’t drank enough for his demeanor to start slipping away, he does have one question on his mind.

“You must… know of who I am,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “But why did you give me the nickname of Mr. Olive?”

He thinks it’s obvious he’s strong. When his name’s carried thousands of acres across the country, settling into the corners of the largest city, it’s  _ impossible _ to not know. 

“Isn’t that easy? It’s because of your hair,” they reply, nodding to his head. “That’s an olive color, no doubt. Besides—”

The bartender turns their attention to somewhere in the distance, making a curiously dull sound with the tapping of their fingers. “Sometimes, you just want to be known by the most obvious of things, don’t you?”

He thinks it’s obvious he’s strong. That it’s a universal truth, a given. Even without the gift of his dominant left hand, he would’ve strived for it all the same.

But strength is never complete, as he’s learned from the cold concrete of the Edo streets.

There is always more to do. 

If there is one reason why he lives, Ushijima decides upon—

“I see,” he says, the words slipping out of his tongue with a bit of unfamiliarity. Truth be told, he’s still not entirely sure about the answers he’s looking for, but maybe that’s alright. “Thank you.”

It’s to carry the burden of great strength on his back.

Isn’t that enough?

  
  


* * *

  
  


“I still don’t like him,” the owner declares with a harrumph.

“Nobody’s asking you to do so,” you reply, wiping down the counter. “But aren’t you just being extremely petty right now? The reason why you’re able to go about like  _ that _ is because of how much extra he pays, isn’t it?”

“And you’re the one who doesn’t say a word about it,” he says with an airy voice. “Aren’t you the same?”

You shrug. “Guess we’re both at fault then.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


She doesn’t remember much about her birth.

For as long as she remembers, the red lights and hazy smoke have always filled her home, the rustle of elaborately-patterned kimonos and high-pitched giggles composed her music. The pale, cold moon in the night sky was her sun, emitting a warmth she can only imagine on her skin. 

And all she’s ever known to touch—

“So the marriage proposal was quite surprising to me,” Shimizu says, cup of  _ sake _ in hand. “I never took their everyday antics quite seriously.”

“That makes sense,” the bartender says, wiping down a glass. “But it sounds like he put a lot of heart into it.”

It had been just any other day when she received a hairpin, wrapped hastily in a simple box. Nothing particular stood out about it: it shined with a dull gold luster, decorated with a crane encircled in a sea of clouds at the top. Certainly much less gaudy and brilliant compared to her old days, but even so—

“He sure did.” A small smile finds its way onto Shimizu’s face. “Which is why I accepted it.”

The bartender’s eyebrows lift upwards for a brief second. “Congratulations,” they say. “I hope your marriage will be a blessed one.”   


Shimizu tilts her head up to the ceiling. 

Where she was born, what was considered a “blessing” was to not be singled out by the  _ oiran _ . Have a steady flow of patrons and not get a disease. The opportunity to get married. Maybe the hardest is to climb and become the epitome of perfection. You either live to see what life outside the cage is like, or live to make the most comfort out of the cage.

After all, at the top, the view’s the best.

(But perfection is always  _ changing _ , she notes dimly. These days, what’s become popular isn’t at the price of a commoner’s annual salary, speech and etiquette on par with the royal family, fashion rivalling the ballgowns out west.  _ Geisha _ are becoming more and more popular with their performances of dance and song. Willows to the flowers, subtlety rather than ornery.) 

Shimizu’s blessing came in neither of these, but rather in the form of three young men who bought out her contract with shaky hands and wide eyes. She’s not quite sure what their intentions were to this day, nor just  _ how _ they were able to pay off the contract.

They told her the work would be in much better conditions. Back then, she didn’t entirely understand what that meant. When you’ve spent your whole life in a cage, you usually don’t have an interest in what lies outside of it. 

Still, it’s not to say she wasn’t  _ disinterested. _

And through years of work, Shimizu paid them back whole a couple days ago.

Now that she’s finally, truly, free, what does a blessing mean?

“I believe it will be,” she replies, though she’s not sure what she’s looking for. “I have faith in us.”

_ Us _ is probably not the right word to use, if she’s being honest. It’s almost like she’s entering another contract, though one of her choice, with this marriage. Shimizu wonders if she’s trading her freedom that she worked so desperately for all too quickly.

“And that’s all you need,” the bartender says. “There’s strength in that sort of bond.”

_ Strength _ . If you told Shimizu five, six years ago that she’d learn to find strength in her scars, she would’ve scoffed.

She’s always found it hypocritical—how men are constantly knocking on their doors, paying for their services, drowning themselves in lust and pleasure, only to turn their backs once the sun rises.  _ Castle-topplers _ , which if you called that to somebody with a sword, they’re venerated as  heroes. To a woman, only those in exclusive positions—those who could  _ refuse _ —was that word used.

For the rest, their strength lies in their bodies.

Was that really all to it?

She doesn’t think so.

At the same time, she’s not sure what else there is, either.

“You know… Blondie-chan once called the scars on my legs battle wounds of honor,” she begins. “She and the other senior members are the only ones to know my past.”

“That’s quite the extravagant way to put it,” they comment. “It has a nice ring to it though.”

“Doesn’t it? I was pretty taken aback by it the first time she said it. But it’s come to grow on me these days,” replies Shimizu, a slight chuckle escaping from her lips. “I always tried my best to hide those scars. I think I saw it as a way of hiding who I was before. To never let the public see.”

She once tried to run like the wind, but wind eventually dies in a closed space.

“But I think I was just ashamed of myself, for the most part,” Shimizu continues, taking a slow sip from her drink. “This is a testament to my failure.”

She tried to run, but she was never fast enough. 

Carving one’s own path to freedom is never easy.

“It’s still a sign that you tried, isn’t it? Despite your result,” the bartender asks. “Some wouldn’t even dare to try and run.”

A small nod. “To be honest, I wasn’t really expecting much from it either. Escaping from there is like a pipe dream. I suppose I just wanted to know how far I could run.”

The gods never assure you anything. Strength, power, everything rises and falls with a flick of a wrist. Who lives, who dies, sometimes it just comes to a screeching halt in a matter of seconds. 

But if she’s learned anything—you can only rise to the challenge. No matter what the odds are against you. 

She doesn’t remember much about her birth, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to forget it.

And maybe, someday she’ll be able to talk more freely about it.

Shimizu trades freedom for this: the promise of stability, a step forward knowing someone's next to you.

She trades freedom for this: for a _tomorrow_ as you live in _today._

Maybe she'll regret this choice down the line. It's not like Tanaka's a particularly wealthy man, nor one with high prestige. Shimizu doesn't even think she loves him all that much.

“Thank you, Bartender-san.” She rises from her seat, fishing out a couple coins from a pouch to set on the counter. “If you could listen to a request of mine… can you please look after Blondie-chan for me?”

Still, even though it may hurt to try, there's merit in doing so, she thinks.

Maybe one day, she will learn to love.

The bartender smiles mysteriously, enough to send a small chill down her spine.

“I make no promises.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


A broken house. A dark night. The full moon up above.

Heavy breaths that go unheard.

Your sword, stenched with blood.

Your left arm, still missing—separated— _ gone _ .

And you wonder distantly whether it was heaven or hell to still be alive.

_ What’s the point without you? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this whole thing is such a mess but thank you to all who are still sticking around! in case you couldn't tell, i got a bit bored with the usual conversation format (and it probably becomes a drag to read too). hopefully kiyoko's backstory didn't feel terribly out of place. we're going back to more character analysis for the next one with a certain twin, it'll be a bit more on the light side too.


	29. golden crow, jade rabbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...but sometimes a sword is too heavy.

i.

  
  
  


A paper doll is made. Talismans are drawn with strokes of black ink. Life works in cycles. An endless push and recede. 

Osamu’s cycle is to hold up the stars. Guide the balance between the elements. Everything is balanced. Everything is perfect. 

Until it’s not.

  
  
  


ii.

  
  
  


“Welcome to Bar Eden. No other half tonight?”

He shakes his head.

“What would you like to drink tonight?”

 _Answers_ , he wants to say. _Order. Control._

  
  
  


iii.

  
  
  


If you asked Osamu whether he’s jealous of his brother or not, he’d probably scoff humorously at the question on a good day and ignore you on a bad one. 

There’s always work that needs to be done around the shrine. Upholding a god’s domain is no easy feat, especially not when yours is the god of prosperity and agriculture (though if anything, Osamu will privately admit he’s more scared of the head divinator than the god themself.) 

So he doesn’t have time for those sorts of questions.

During the mornings, he helps sweep the shrine grounds (though he always tries to wake up late to get out of it). Then they’re sometimes called out to help bless a field, read a fortune or two, or exorcise a demon.

Their livelihoods are dependent on the stars. Divinators are technically civil servants too, so sometimes they’ll help out with imperial affairs. People think that they’re superior through channeling the voices of the gods; Osamu just thinks the gods command them what to do. Free will doesn’t exist, and that’s fine. You don’t have to worry about choices when they’re already laid out for you.

(It’s easier like this.)

  
  
  


iv.

  
  
  


“Everything on your menu and some _sake_ please.”

“Sure you can finish it all?"

Osamu shrugs. “Beats me. Doesn’t hurt to try.”

“It’ll take some time if you don’t mind, but we’ll have it ready.” The bartender proceeds to pour out a drink. “So, what brings you here tonight?”

His lips purse slightly at the question. While it’s not uncommon that Osamu sometimes goes out without a certain loud nuisance by his side, usually there’s _somebody_ else with him. He doesn’t mind either scenario: he’s usually not one to talk, letting other people say the words instead. All he has to do is follow.

But tonight, his ears are a bit too sick of noise, his throat more rusty than he likes it. When he opens his mouth, he’s not sure if he can answer properly.

“Just some things here and there,” he replies, accepting the drink with a slight nod. “I’m gonna open up a small shop nearby here, once spring comes around.”  
  


v.

  
  
  


Atsumu had always been _more_. 

If Atsumu is the _yang,_ Osamu likens himself to the _yin_.

The _shikigami_ Atsumu summons are beasts from legends long gone. Demons that Abe-no-Seimei would’ve struggled in a fight, Atsumu takes them down with ease and without a sweat. _You’re his reincarnation_ , people say with an awed smile. Atsumu eats it all up. Then asks, _demands_ for more. There’s a certain look in his eye that goads, _I’m strong. You better be too._

It’s not like Osamu isn’t strong either. If there’s some mishap that Atsumu manages to cause (he overlooked a lot of things), Osamu’s always there to pick up the slack. _Maybe Abe-no-Seimei decided to inhabit you both_ , they’ll say. _I bet if Shutendoji was still alive, he wouldn’t even dare to face the two of you_.

But Osamu’s _shikigami_ have always been just a little more softer, rounder at the edges. Where Atsumu’s hit with the blunt force of a club, his dance the strength of a thousand winds, Osamu’s moves with a certain grace, promising to end everything in a second. 

He never asks. He’s never wanted to be better, _more_ ; he just wants to _exist_. To show the world that his legs can make him cross mountains too. That he can listen to the gods all the same. Atsumu crosses a mountain. Osamu follows. Atsumu crosses another. Osamu follows again. Cross. Follow. Cross. Follow.

 _Cycles,_ Osamu repeats to himself. _Life is all a bunch of cycles._

  
  
  


vi.

  
  
  


“A shop?” The bartender makes an inquiring hum. “That’s unexpected. Any idea of what you’re going to sell yet?”

“Onigiri,” Osamu answers. “Just that for now.”

“Any reason why?”

“Easy to make.” He presses his cup against his lips. “Can make some quick money too.”

“Don’t underestimate what it takes to man a shop now,” they reply, the edges of their lips curled up. “It’s harder than it looks.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” says Osamu. “A challenge isn’t so bad.”

  
  
  


vii.

  
  
  


_The difference was only one minute_ , their mother recalled with a slight chuckle. _You wanted to rush out just as quick_ _as your brother_.

It’s enough to determine that he’ll die.

Here’s where it gets fuzzy—according to their mother, it was Inari who told her to keep the second child. Him. They’re named _Atsumu_ and _Osamu_. One who’s never satisfied. One who governs. Twins: one and the same. 

If only it were that simple.

Osamu sometimes wonders if Atsumu ate some small part of him in the womb. That’s why Atsumu came tumbling out first, eyes wide open with tears while Osamu didn’t make a sound. That’s why he loves the job more. 

And it’s why Osamu doesn’t stay.

  
  
  


viii.

  
  
  


“So did Inari tell you to open up a shop or something?”

“No, not really. Just thought it’d be nice to do it.”

“Huh.” Suna’s expression flickers briefly for a minute as he claps his hands together. “Would’ve thought you’d stay with your brother and all.”

Osamu bows, murmuring a chant under his breath. _Grant this land blessings and your protection_. “Is everything I do related to him?” he asks after rising.

“That's not what I meant."

“Yeah, I know,” Osamu replies, a chuckle slipping past his lips. “I think I did too, at some point.”

Suna adjusts the hat on his head, muttering a _then why did you ask_ before speaking again—"You're something else, you know? I don't think I could give up something I've done for so long that easily."  
  
He did, didn't he? Built up this cycle only to burn it to the ground, beyond salvage.

"You think?" With a scratch of his head—"It's pretty easy once you actually put your mind to it."

viv.

  
  
  


“D’you think we have something like free will?” he asks the bartender, his face a bit more flushed than normal. There’s just a couple pieces of sushi he has to finish before everything’s scraped clean off the plates.

“Aren’t you the divinator here, isn’t that a question you should know?” they reply, standing stoic as ever. Osamu wonders briefly if they ever get tired standing still like that. He definitely would.

With slow chews—”Just indulge me for a bit, won’t you?” Osamu asks. He’s hit the point where the alcohol’s doing more of the speaking than his brain, something he usually doesn’t let happen (that was Atsumu’s role). 

The bartender places a finger on their chin. “I suppose that would depend on how much you trust the gods, no? Would they ever get tired of micromanaging humans if it’s their job for eternity?”

He lets out a long sigh. “Dunno. ‘M not sure if I wanna find out either.”

They smile in return.

“You and me both.”

  
  


x.

  
  
  


Back when they were younger and still a bit more wide-eyed about the world, Osamu promised to himself and Atsumu that he’ll be the kinder twin. Completely different from his shitty, selfish half. A little more kindness never hurt the world.

“The hell are you talking about?” Atsumu asked, looking equal parts confused and equal parts couldn’t-care-less. Osamu didn’t expect him to understand; he’s not quite too sure of what it entails either.

And maybe Osamu’s hands already slipped from the sky then.

  
  
  


xi.

  
  
  


“If you’re so dang confident, so dang sure you’ll be the happier one, come back when we’re 80 year old geezers! I dare you to laugh in my face and tell me you had a happier life!”

Osamu’s not sure if he’s ever hated seeing his brother’s (his own) face so much. Golden hues reflect back at him, hardened like crystals. In that moment, he realizes this is where their paths will split.

But Atsumu snickers, which turns into a chuckle, then an uproarious laugh that echoes around the room. “You bet I will! I’ll say it as many times as I need to stomp you out completely!”

Osamu has to laugh too. He releases his grip from Atsumu’s collar, not able to stop the peals of laughter coming from his stomach. They look like maniacs, sitting on the tatami mats laughing away at some absurd notions, but he doesn’t care, not any more.  
  


xii.

  
  
  


“We’re… cut from the same cloth, aren’t we? Even if we… go our separate ways or something… we’re still gonna be together when it’s all over…” Osamu slurs out, his head just millimeters away from the bar counter. Did he ever finish the last piece of sushi? He’s not entirely sure. His hand is on his cup, rocking it back and forth.

“Sure you will,” comes the bartender’s voice from somewhere. Osamu can’t register it properly. “That's a special bond you have with him.”

“‘M… gonna be so _goddamn_ happy, I’ll make him cry… That’ll show him…”

Faintly, quietly—”You go do just that.”

  
  
  


xiii.

  
  


A paper doll is made. Talismans are drawn with strokes of black ink. Life works in cycles. An endless push and recede. 

He didn’t want answers. Didn’t want order or control—especially not from the stars or the gods, not anymore.

It might be easier to let fate string along your course, but that doesn't make it better. And maybe this change of course was something already predetermined too, but—

“A _yaki-onigiri_ and a couple of pickled _umeboshi_ ones, please.”

“Coming right up.”

If he can shape his own happiness, that’s plenty enough.

  
  
  
  
  


?.

  
  
  


“It’s not them,” the owner announces. “There’s no way it’s them. I highly doubt the gods would let her become that strong again.”

“But who else could she be?” you ponder out loud, though you’re not particularly caring of the answer. “They’re all foxes. She has to be somewhere in that group, right?”

He shrugs. “Tamamo-chan escaped to three different countries before finally dying here. Who knows, maybe she’s already run off to somewhere else.”

With a shudder—”Don’t call her that.” A beat later: “Wish she would’ve taken me with her.”

“You never watch your mouth, huh?” The owner crosses his arms. “Wait, but are you jealous that—”

“One more word and I’m leaving you for good.”

“As if you can.”

A wordless sound of mirth escapes your mouth. "Yeah, I guess you're right there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things have been hectic this month but managed to get this out somehow... hope y'all liked the debut of the nonlinear style. next up will be another dealing in the supernatural.


End file.
